


Whims of Ice

by SlothsTheSinICaterTo



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Insipired by Norse Mythology and the Movies, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, Jötunn Loki from Jötunheim, Suspense, Various themes, alternative universe, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-02-14 03:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 95,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothsTheSinICaterTo/pseuds/SlothsTheSinICaterTo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jotunn Prince Loki always desired the throne that was rightfully his, alas ruling a decaying realm was not his wish. The stolen relic could return Jotunheim to its former glory. However his schemes bring something unexpected to his doorstep and he doesn't want to let it leave. "He knew that she would be his"<br/>Loki and Sigyn centric.<br/>AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The collision of two antitheses

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of fiction contains: violence, strong language and sexual themes.  
> You've been warned, read at your own discretion.
> 
> Whims of Ice had begun in early 2014  
> Chapters 1 – 23 were revised and re-uploaded on August 2016

**Whims of Ice**

 

 

**Chapter one**

**_The collision of two antitheses_ **

He stood on the highest tower of the crumbling Jotunheim palace. Bravely lingering on the edge. It was exceedingly rare for the strong winds of the Ice Realm to be this calm and soothing; his slickened back, black hair swayed slightly and caressed his shoulder blades. The young man was uncaring for the highpoint that he stood at and the long fall that threatened any living being. It was not only great but also mortally perilous – the abyss beneath extended well beyond the underground of the Cold World. If a creature survived the fall, then without the gift of flight – they would never leave the chasm alive. However the possibility did not faze him, he remained in his position unmoving.

The red eyes of the male observed the heavens. Somewhere on the horizon the clouds seemed to have been shredded. The sole sun-star of Jotunheim was beginning to peak through. Its cold white light illuminated the corners of the tearing fabric of the sky in a stunning electric blue tint. Seeing this happening was a marvel all on its own, the occurrence of a true Winter Solstice, taking place in this snow-buried realm every millennia or so. This was a first in his lifetime witnessing this event. However it had more significance than that – it was the dawning of a New Era.

Behind him laid the slain King – the one who had called himself _Laufey_. He would have scoffed, this was such a twist of fate – the former Ruler had died in the very spot Odin had defeated him so many years ago.

The father’s head had been severed from his shoulders by his own son.

There was no remorse, none whatsoever, the only thing that led him was cold calculation. It was time to bring his schemes to fruition, scraps gathered and stitched bit by bit for well over a millennium.   

The small Giant that had murdered the King – committed patricide, was none other than the Jotunn Prince Loki. 

* * *

 

The sole son of the Asgardian Rulers – Thor Odinson entered the great Hall of Gladsheim. He was greeted with loud cheers and happy faces. Holding up his weapon of power – Mjölnir, the heavenly hammer forged by the craftiest of Dwarves and enchanted by the magic of the Allfather himself, he called forth a reaction that was not unlike that of the element he ruled – thunderous roars of approval rose from the crowd.

This was his day, his day of highest triumph. The coming into reality of his lifelong dream – the apogee of his existence. It was the very reason of his birth – this was his destiny. To him – this was the pinnacle of his glory and it was well deserved, he planned on pushing even beyond this limit of greatness. He was the Ruler of the stormy skies and they were bound by none. Therefore, what was attested to his domain also extended to him – the God of Thunder, the Thunderer.

This majestic day was when the inhabitants of Realm Eternal would rejoice. He would ascend to the Throne and he would reign over all. The Crown Prince allowed himself to revel in the moment.

This was the coronation of the Mighty Thor.

His stride was wide and confident. The light of the Bright Home had never been brighter, the gold and adamants shone more brilliantly than ever before. The pride everyone felt for the soon-to-be-King was overwhelming. The eyes of everyone present gleamed in wonder and appreciation; his family, his friends, his subjects – all were there to give their respects at the time of his absolute magnificence.

The son stood before his father. The former Ruler’s staff of power – Gungnir was brought down to the ground – all was silent. The action commanded utter obedience and the self-satisfied man-child believed that he would control his people even better. The marvelous ceremony was stunning – it was rightly so – the days of his Kingship would soon begin. 

The predecessor began the rites, the succession began. The young Aesir bellowed his replies to every oath presented. He swore himself to his world – to forever care and protect it.

The perfection was shattered violently, a visage of horror dawned on the Godling’s face. His fate was ripped from out of his grasp when it was just a hairsbreadth away. A fateful whisper from the Odinfather’s lips had torn his lifelong-sought grandeur asunder – ‘ _Frost Giants_ ’...     

* * *

 

Long tables adorned with feast of Gods were upturned and tumbled down in a fit of rage. The de-crowned had-to-be-King displayed his frustration in loud roars. The heated epithets spewed were not born from heroic sentiment as they should have been, it was the Storm God’s wounded pride beneath it that spoke in unconscious falsity.

The other Asgardians present – the Warriors Three and Lady Sif were all upset by the turn of events. Their greatest friend as well as their leader was supposed to be celebrating his ultimate victory – the coming into power. Alas thus did not occur.

The threat was silenced before it even touched its goal, but the appearance of it in the first place was more than unsettling. The infiltration itself should not have been possible. However Asgard – the safest and greatest of realms was breached by a band of rogue Jotunns. The fact that they were all dust now did not soothe anyone that was aware of it.

The conversation was livid on the Prince’s side, while his closest of allies tried in vain to calm and reason with him. It did not matter which but one of the warriors present had uttered a phrase meant in jest – no one knew what terrible consequences a few carelessly said words could have. Thor took it to heart in all seriousness – claiming it with desperate clutches seeking retaliation. He voiced this transgression to be an insult to his Kingdom, an open threat of war, although in reality, deep down inside his arrogant mind, it was truly an insult to him.

To the Throne Heir it was a suggestion and he immediately took to convincing his weapon’s brothers (the woman warrior included). If the Allfather would do nothing, then he – as the meant Ruler, would take the matters into his own hands.

No one believed in the success of this preposterous offer (command). Everyone told their opinions on the matter and they opposed the royal Aesir’s wishes, all treading carefully, not meaning to drive the storming man more. But he was all joyful now – as if the battle was already conquered, he did not doubt that this ‘decision’ was already settled in his favor.

It was Fandral who dared to express himself louder than others, he named this task a ‘suicide mission’. However the Golden One would have none of it. He did not take offense in what the gallant male had voiced aloud, everything just went through his ears unheard and ignored. The God of Thunder was no master tactician, but he knew how to sway his friends to join him on this quest (but that was not how he understood his actions). He addressed each one separately, addressing by name and reminding of the impossible things they’d achieved together and how he always offered support when they were in need.

Sooner than anyone could have expected they conceded to the Thunderer. The said man observed his friends, each wore an expression of grim concentration, only he was less moved by the impending. His emotions towards that were born from his immense self-assuredness, which was not empty – his prowess as a warrior was indeed something frightfully potent. As unbeatable as he was in battlefield, the Aesir Prince did lack in the area of prudent approach – that was his father’s position. Alas Odin was none the wiser to this outrage.

Thor glanced to Lady Sif, she looked to be deep in contemplation. He had grand plans for her. She would make a wise Queen one day; someone who shared his views and his understanding – the right person to claim the right to be beside him. But those thoughts were the furthest thing from his mind, he had a score to settle.

* * *

 

That was how the Crown Princes of Jotunheim and Asgard had come to power; one over the realm, the other – over himself. Both took it by force, although just one had planned it that way. They were destined to be enemies before they were even born.

The first move had been made and it would bring forth the collision of the two antitheses.                                 

* * *

 

**A/N**

**Gladsheim** – in Norse mythology is a realm in Asgard, where Valhalla is located; in other sources it is the name of Odin's meeting hall. In this fic it is the name of the Asgardian Palace itself. Gladsheim in old Norse means " **bright home** ", that is why in some places I refer to it as the Bright Home.

To those who may not know Norse mythology well, then that part where Thor thinks of Sif as his future queen are not ramblings of a Thor/Sif shipper (in all actually I couldn't care less). In the myths Sif is Thor's wife. To be clear this is quite the AU story, so it will soon stop taking bits of the first movie, therefore Jane Foster will not be part of this.

**Feedback is very appreciated and responded to!**

 

 


	2. Eternally content

**Chapter two**

**_Eternally content_ **

****

Sigyn rushed through the hallways of the Golden Palace. She nearly ran through them. The speedy pace was chosen not because of grace, no, the young woman did not want to trip or cause unnecessary panic (not that there were many people present at this hour). Her heart was in her throat, she was fretting immensely.

She was just a slip of a girl, merely over a millennium of age, which by the measure of Aesir – made her just step into adulthood. The Lady was short compared to fully grown Asgardian females. Her hair was frizzled and gathered in a loose braid, the coloration of which was platinum blond. A color unheard of because most of the light-haired Realm dwellers had golden wheat hair. The difference in both height and hair was something of her heritage. She was indeed an Asgardian for she had lived in Realm Eternal all of her life, but by blood – she was Vanir and Dvergar. Her eyes were of the brightest spring green, her face childishly round, accented by plump lips and cheeks dusted with freckles. She was pale in skin, which refused to be loved by the sun, the unmerciful rays of the star of Asgard only burned her flesh – leaving an unattractive and tender red in their wake. The fact that she could not fully enjoy the warmth of summer days saddened her greatly; but her lack of tolerance for harsh sunlight was also something from her unique mix of kin, which flowed through her veins.

The female Vanir was dressed in her garb of duty, the brown gown swished wildly as she made her swift way through the many corridors. She was a healer, her mentor was Eir herself – the Goddess of Healing. To any commoner this was a privilege, and to train under the watchful gaze of the head healer – was a true blessing. Sigyn got along well with her powerful teacher. Her gift in magic was potent and she had never failed the Master, alas the strain of the possibility of ever coming short – was great. Lady Eir was not someone anyone wished to upset, she was knowledgeable and immovable in her strong opinions – much to the girl-woman’s fortune she was held in high esteem by the older Goddess.

But that was not all that she was, while her work in the medical wing had already been long and formidable (however her success remained unnoticed, not that she wanted it to be), she also had a relatively new duty. For the last several centuries she had been an Asynjur – one of the Queen’s handmaidens. All females that held that position were capable in magic and minor physical defense, their line of duty was to serve their Majesty in any way that she wished. This consisted of: serving as a meager band of bodyguards – for when there was no threat and Frigga simply needed an escort, and doing any trifle tasks that held more significance than those given to common servants. Perhaps there was also the idea that the Asynjur were meant to keep the High Goddess company, alas they were never really involved into any conversations with her. Not because it was beneath a person of such a stature, it was most possibly so because the ones who served were not meant to get familiar with their Mistress. Therefore the females who had the privilege of serving under the Queen were silent and obedient, answering only to the call of the Monarch herself. As much as Sigyn knew, none of the Asynjur were close to one another or in higher graces of Frigga – and she was no exception to that. Despite being quite observant and more schooled (although most of it was self-taught) – she was no better at knowing the calm and beautiful, yet mysterious Ruler of Asgard.           

In all truth the young Lady’s stance in the hierarchy of this world was not quite according to her heritage. Her position should have been higher and she was not even part of the court. She was the granddaughter of an ex realm-Ruler – Lord Njord. However due to the outcome of the Aesir-Vanir wars, which had taken place prior her birth, their world was now abandoned and overrun by wildlife. He currently resided in Real Eternal, ruling over the region of Noatun. The used-to-be-King’s daughter Freya – her mother, was considered a high Noblewoman in Asgard. The girl’s father was a Dwarf, a province King in Svartalfheim named Iwaldi. Therefore by blood she was a Princess and should have stood on nearly equal grounds with the Crown Prince – Thor himself, and not so far beneath him. Many of the Asgardian nobility of less impressive birth – even they were higher than a meager healer. And Sigyn Iwaldidottir was content with that.

She did not need the fine silken garb and expensive jewelry of court Ladies, or the freedom of walking unburden by duty (whether that of a healer or an Asynjur). And she did definitely have no wish to be part or even less the center of high society’s gossip and slander. As much as princesses and tiaras, and princes on white steeds fascinated little girls – the Vanir was not a naïve child. High places were dangerous and not for the faint or overly kind of heart. She was not cut out for the vicious viper nest that court-life was. The female knew that she was spineless and useless in the areas most needed for that kind of existence. Surviving it would be disastrous for her: games of beauty and finesse, cunning and scheming, not even to mention power-play and political nuances (not like she would actually be any part of the latter, since she was a woman and an unimportant one at that). In her understanding she had no valuable opinions to be shared and worried too much about saying something utterly foolish or wrong (and the fret was not without reason, she always added in her mind).

She was content with being unknown, but she did not label herself as completely unimportant. Yes, the Queen could have replaced her with any other gifted girl, but she was a capable healer. And while she did not think of herself as great, the young woman knew that a decent healer was never a nuisance. Therefore she had a meaningful existence and she was content with her purpose. Her training in this field of work was the grace of Norns themselves. She was not purposeless or a waste of breath – and she was infinitively glad for that.

That was her life – eternal contentment. Although there were times when the flame of Vanaheim and the stubbornness of Svartalfheim arose – but those were always quickly snuffed out. Sigyn was not aware of the fact that she did not think like an Aesir, even less so when compared to nobility. Views of Asgard were, unconsciously, not something she shared. She lacked their convictions and thought on her own: she did not judge as Asgardians did and did not take pride or offense where they would. She did not feel dishonored by her mother’s – the Love Goddess’s – Freya’s actions. The woman’s lack of care towards her children was also not something that fazed her. The young Lady loved the older woman, even if in reality she was underserving of the adoration. King Iwaldi was also a distant person to her, nonetheless he was also loved without actual reason.

In her short count of years her caretaker since infancy had been her grandfather Lord Njord. It was according to his will that she was now a betrothed woman. Her father was aware of it and of course did not oppose, while her mother was probably too far away or too uncaring to be notified of this. All of her elder sisters were already married and the Vanir King had always arranged these matrimonial unions, and they all took place as if on schedule. Now was her turn. They were all given to be wed while still very young, however by the traditions of Realm Eternal that did not have to necessarily be so.

The female took this occurrence without complaint and with a calm façade. She could not disagree, her match was indeed splendid – the man was a Crimson Hawk – one of the Allfather’s elites. Therefore he was beneficial to their world, held a high station in the tiers of the hierarchy and could provide for a family in abundance. Still there was the glaring fact that she did not wish to be married, not just because of her duty (which required most of her time) but also because she simply did not have interest in such. Courting was but a fantasy of childhood and the reality of it was now more than unwanted. Marriage frightened her beyond belief, she knew well what that enthralled for her and she doubted whether she would enjoy any of it. The mixed-blood Vanir had never been smitten by anyone and when the years of childish imaginary had nothing but passed – she lost all interest in the aspect.

She obeyed well and was aware of all that she had to do, however it did not mean that she could do it without breaking herself like a horse to a saddle. The girl-woman willed herself frequently to ignore this rapidly approaching duty of wife, which swayed in front of her like a noose. She was not yet content with it, but she would be – she _had_ to be. If her mind ever strayed from the path it had to take, fighting it greatly, then life itself would bend her to be content with it and make her follow demurely.

* * *

Sigyn had been ready to retire for the night when loud, hasty knocking had thwarted her plans. She was already out of her ceremonial garb and in the ones of her duty (although by the idea she should have been wearing nightclothes already). The opened door had revealed a guard who informed her of Lady Sif requesting her presence. Nothing else had been told and she believed that the man knew no more of why she had been called.

The young woman respected the Goddess greatly. She was to be admired for her skill and intelligence as a fighter. And somewhere deep in the bowels of the female’s psyche a stomped yet undying flame envied Sif for the abilities she possessed (for she herself was hopeless in the areas required of a warrior).

Because she was one of the Queen’s handmaidens she had been present during the coronation. Due to her proximity to royalty, she had heard of the threat that had appeared. Frost Giants had entered their world. The evil that parents told their children about as bedtime stories. And the babes believed the creatures to be the monsters lurking in the shadows, closets and underneath their beds. Whatever tales about the Ice Jotunns were told, she understood Asgard’s defenses to a certain extent – surely, the threat had been taken care of. If it were an army – the people would have been warned. It had been hours since the Throne succession was interrupted, therefore she was asked for not because someone was wounded due to the breach. If that had been so – then obviously the Goddess of Healing would have been summoned – not she.

The girl had only the power she carried within at her disposal, no instruments of her trade were brought along with her. She was not aware whether she needed them anyway.   

Being called by the warrioress was not as strange an occurrence as some could have thought it to be. She – the meek Sigyn Iwaldidottir – had had the taste of the battlefield before. She was somewhat of a personal healer of the Prince, the warrior Goddess and the trio of fighters. Many would have believed her to be a domestic one: dealing with great wounds – yes, but never outside the safe walls of Asgard or maybe just within the walls of the fortress itself. However such belief was false – the Vanir had taken the sidelines in armed conflicts, healing the fallen right on the bloodied fields – denying the Valkyries of their claim. She prided herself in this honor and was not foolish enough to assume that she could not perish there, and never did she expect to gain a place in the Hall of Slain for this feat. No, not Valhalla and not even her mother’s overseen Folkvangr would house her soul once the girl-woman died. Only Hel could give her shelter and she was content with that. These little adventures with the most magnificent of the Realm’s defenders was not just an honor only she held, it also kindled the fire of Vanaheim inside her – rebelling against her contentment of being nothing. However she was not aware of this, at least not consciously.   

This requesting of her personally and no other – frightened her. The God of Thunder had to be upset. Why was she needed? All that the half-blood healer could hope for – was that it was not because of her wound-mending abilities. But it was possible that in his gargantuan displeasure the Storm God had hurt himself, maybe he had sparred with another to quell the tension and that got too far... Which was why exactly she was to be called upon – to keep these happenings discreet. They did trust her and the girl did not plan on doing anything to upset this frail belief in her. The possibilities though – were endless...

_Please, all of you, be alright_ – Sigyn thought to herself. She had to make haste and reach her destination as quickly as possible.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn's family tree is Marvel-based.
> 
> Eir is the goddess of healing in the Norse mythology, her name in old Norse means help/mercy.
> 
> Asynjur is actually the plural of the female word form of Aesir. I used it as a term to represent Frigga's handmaidens, however that is incorrect. When I had chosen it I was unaware of that and I guess that my choice in word was inspired by a fanfiction (or fanfictions) I've read (since I do believe that I've read it in that context somewhere). I hope you can pardon me for that, as I will continue calling the queen's handmaidens as the Asynjur.
> 
> Njord is a Vanir god that lives in Noatun (region unspecified, in this fic located in Asgard), he is the god of the seas and the overseer of fishermen.
> 
> Freya is the daughter of Njord and she is the goddess of love (she is also associated with fertility, sexuality, beauty, gold and death). Her name means lady.
> 
> Iwaldi (Ivaldi) is a dwarf and the father of a group of blacksmiths (number unspecified), who forged Gungnir (Odin's spear), golden hair for Sif (to replace the hair that Loki had cut) amongst other things. They were involved in a bet that Loki lost, in which he had said that other dwarf smiths (mainly Brokk) would not be able to craft better items than those made by the sons of Ivaldi. Loki lost the bet because in the things that they had forged was Mjolnir. For losing he had to pay with his head, but by trick he managed to escape death, since decapitating him would have required the dwarf to harm his neck – which was not mentioned in the deal. For his lies Loki had his lips sown shut.
> 
> Freya does not have children with Iwaldi in the mythology, that part is Marvel based (so Sigyn is child of neither in the canon myths).
> 
> Norns in the Norse mythology are goddesses that decide the course of one's destiny. They are the equivalent of the Moirae (Fates) in the Greek mythology.
> 
> Folkvangr is a place similar to Valhalla, it is where the other half of the ones that died in battle go. It is overlooked by Freya.
> 
> Now, before anyone is about to say anything about Sigyn's portrayal I wish to tell you a few things. I am well aware what a frequent depiction of her this is. However it is important to this story, it would not work otherwise (per example my Sigyn type from Prophecies would be completely impossible to use here).  
> She is weak, meek and complaint – as intended by me. I have to tell you though that I vehemently dislike characters like this rendition of Sigyn (I do value what their uses to the plot are and I know that it cannot be in any other way, however that doesn't mean that I have to like them). It is not because of preference of portraying weak women that I have written her as such. No, her personality is vital to this fic.  
> If you do not like stories that have Sigyn described as such, then I'd recommend you not to read this piece of fiction.


	3. A healer, a fetter, an oath protector – capable of betrayal

**Chapter three**

**_A healer, a fetter, an oath protector – capable of betrayal_ **

 

 

The healer was close to her destination, just a bit more and she would know what plight had befallen Asgard’s best. Sigyn did not even reach it when she saw a lone figure standing idly in front of the door to the chamber she was to meet her summons. She instantly recognized the person to be the one she sought.

Her last steps were indeed a run and she forgot to follow protocol, which she always did follow so valiantly. Her first words did not mask her anxiety.

“What has happened?”

The dark-haired woman was lost in thought and returned her attention to the one who had spoken only when she stopped just a few paces in front of her.

“Oh. Sigyn” that was the actual greeting and a long pause stretched between them.

The Vanir, still heavy on her breath, could not contain the second inquiry. She fervently hoped that her fears would be stifled.

“Is anyone hurt?”

The answer to the issued question came after a shaking of a head.

“Do not worry, everyone is fine.”

She nearly collapsed in relief, but a sigh did escape – it indicated her now seemingly unburdened state.

The troubled expression did not leave the warrior Goddess and there again was a pause, far too precious trickles of time were wasted in silence. That renewed the girl’s worry.

“I need you to confirm that you will keep what you will hear to yourself” this line of conversation to the listener appeared to be uttered in the wrong place, even though the corridor was empty and there was not a soul present that could overhear it. “Whether you will agree or disagree to this request is of no importance. The choice is all yours, however you have to say that my words will not befall any ears” the tone was calm, silent and commanding. It did not help the girl-woman’s inner equilibrium, which was more than off-balance.

“My Lady, you know that I will not tell a soul” she answered truthfully, this was not the first when the information entrusted to her would be just hers to keep – and she knew how to keep her mouth shut. Therefore the question should not have been asked but she reassured the warrioress nonetheless. Alas she somehow had a feeling that this would not bode well, she was not aware just how right she was.

Sif did not wave her off as she usually did when the young untitled Lady used the proper titles. She did not seem to notice that it was used anyway; there was no denying – as if it were an unnecessary bother, nor was there any vain pleasure taken in the heightening quality that such name-calling had. The Asynjur did not care that she was the one to use the other’s status without fail, while the female warrior never referred to her equally – she was just Sigyn to her. Although in reality she was a Princess and should have been spoken to accordingly, but no one did and no one cared (including the royal woman herself). This fact that the battle-dressed female did not care – unsettled her because she was never this spacey in demeanor.

The blonde thought that perhaps she had in mind the whole situation with the Jotunns. Though she quickly discarded the idea to elaborate on the matter and disclose that she already knew of the break-in.

A nod at it and she resumed talking.

“This mission is very dangerous. I have no delusions that we may escape without being wounded altogether. It is more than possible that we will need the aid of a healer right on the battlefield. Due to this possibility, perhaps more correctly – certainty, you have the choice to decline.”

The young woman had already paced her inhales and exhales correctly, so she did not puff like a pudgy creature after a run from Hel. She did not like the Goddess’s careful phrasing at all – it was pretty clear by it that this ‘mission’ was not official. Thus only added to the severity and hazardousness of it.

“I accept it. My duty is to serve and offer my help in any way that I can be of assistance. I will not refuse it” even without knowing to what she was agreeing to – Sigyn did it anyway. It was simply impossible for her to flee from her meaning in life: she would not pass a wounded and when her presence was required by her Lords – it was an absolute. Saying ‘no’ was not an option. Alas something in her gut was warier than it should have been.

Lady Sif looked as if she was going to argue her instant agreement but she swallowed the opposing. She met the worried light green eyes with her serious hazel orbs.

“We are to travel to Jotunheim and get some answers, retaliate to this grave insult thrown to our Realm.”

An ‘insult’ – it was a line she would have expected to hear from the Golden Throne Heir. Then again, it was clear that the female fighter adored him, perhaps more blindly then she should have – but that was none of the girl’s business.

Her jaw went slack because of the revelation – to march into the Ice Realm and go against a whole army... Had she truly heard correctly? – but that question was just wishful thinking. Could this possibly work out for the good of their World? Would this not affirm the declaration of war? Perchance they would survive... Maybe even attain victory... Maybe... Still she felt as if she was signing her own death warrant.     

“I will join you and I will aid you as best as I can” the healer forced herself to answer firmly, although her knees were shaking.       

* * *

 

The trip was uneventful. The brunette offered little information concerning this venture. What she told were only abstract explanations. Sigyn understood that it was not born from ill-will, this quest was only an idea and not yet a fully formed mission.

When they entered the hall the mood resembled a secret gathering. Everyone present looked grim, only the air surrounding the royal male was different. Thor was silent, which was incredibly out of character. However there was something lingering about him that seemed pleased and she realized instantly that it was upon his suggestion that the ‘walk’ into Jotunheim would commence. He was glad for what was to come.

Because of the state the warriors were in, she thought that she understood the severity of this quest. It was strange and frightening that her entrance did not garner the usual reactions. The Vanir understood that the Aesir female had not told of her involvement and prior their arrival – the group was waiting for the member that had been absent. No one questioned why a healer was brought into this, even the Prince himself – who was so assured of the success (if he were not, then this whole thing would not have begun at all) – did not instantly oppose. The ones who had noticed her more clearly and understood why she was here appeared to be somewhat relieved, although no words were shared concerning thus.

Their greeting was deflated and different from the norm. That just made it all worse. Even if she did not appreciate Fandral’s unceasing flirt, she still noticed the lack of it. The saber wielding man always had a smile etched on his face when a female was present – now that expression was missing from his physiognomy. There were none of Volstagg’s boisterous and jolly greetings. Hogun did not utter his few reserved lines that he usually did, now there was only a nod in acknowledgement. At this moment he lived up to the name the other soldiers often used for him – Hogun the Grim. She had always regarded his demeanor as that of a very gathered and disciplined person – but now he looked too dreary for it to only be associated to that of a perfectly trained fighter.

* * *

 

The last-minute-included woman was silent throughout the conversation. She was not asked to share her opinion on the matter, therefore she offered no commentary. She was not surprised to find out that this whole outrageous plan would commence tonight.

During this gathering of sorts the Throne Heir had only once spoken of her presence. He said that it was unnecessary to involve their little healer in this skirmish, he was sure that everything would be fine. However with the careful reasoning of others he had conceded, she would do no harm even if her presence would be unneeded.

Her stay was not long, for she was asked to go and gather everything she deemed necessary to take with her.

The band created for this task, without the Allfather’s approval, still remained to form this mission more thoroughly. Afterwards she knew that at least some of them too would leave to take their weapons and meet again at the appointed place.

* * *

 

The young Lady scurried about her room, the one located in the palace. It housed nearly all of her meager possessions, due to these quarters being called her own for quite some time. She searched her wardrobe for clothing that would fit the indescribably cold world she was to soon enter. No furs fitting for such were owned – the winters of Asgard did not require such garb.

True, the bitter temperature would not end her, nor would it bring perish to any Aesir. However it could still do plenty of damage if they stayed there for more than a day. The never-ending snow and ice could turn any outer-realm dwellers lethargic – and she was no warrior trained to withhold such drastic changes for long; it could also damage limbs and slow their responsiveness. But worst of all – it could lull into an illusion of slumber, making one pass into a state of permanent coma. She shivered at the idea, the so-called immortals could spend centuries and even millennia frozen and appearing dead, without any outward assistance – they would remain as such.

After a lengthy search she had located a long lamb-skin coat, with rabbit’s plush fur on the inside as well as the trims and collar. It did not look fancy or suited for nobility – but she did not care and did not think of herself as royalty anyway. This was a gift from her father; while Realm Eternal was mild and consistent in its weather, Iwaldi’s heim-land Svartalfheim – was not. He had given her this coat not as an expensive present but rather out of necessity. It had been ages since she’d traveled into the world of Dwarves and Dark Elves; Goblins and Trolls – and all other kinds of unsightly creatures. However the province King’s daughter remembered well the dangerous cliff-side roads of mountains covered in eternal white of snow, the freezing winds and storms were also not something she could forget.

Her pack should have been large but it was not. If the situation were any different she would have smiled at that. Serving under the Queen so closely had its merits – she was tutored in magic and compressing a bag to be lighter and smaller was not something distant and out of her range of abilities now.

The blonde Asynjur was in a hurry, she almost haphazardly threw various healing equipment into the poor-looking, brown satchel. The items in it consisted of various: tools, cloths and bandages, vials and herbs.

This whole trip did seem a lunacy to her, although she did not wish to judge the Prince’s decisions. No matter of her lowly stance, she did pack something that would have opposed his very understanding of this quest. But he did not need to know of this and in the dreaded case if it were necessary, then no one could complain that she had brought such. Their mission was to take several hours, no more than a day – they would confront the boundary-overstepping Jotunns (teach them a lesson, if need be) and leave. The idea was simple, alas if anything were to go awry – they could be stranded in the vast realm of unceasing frost (given if they would not be killed by the monstrous inhabitants). And days in such a barren place could not only weaken the group but also make everyone completely nonfunctional – thus would definitely lead to their untimely doom, even if it were but a few Frost Giants to locate them. Therefore she packed a small reserve of food – various dried and preserved sustenance – it would hopefully last for several days.

The girl also took a few blankets and quilts (although she doubted that those would be of any actual use, Jotunheim was simply too cold). Several parchments with inked runes and charms – those were of an array of purposes. In the worst case scenario they would need to conjure heat, but where in such a desolate place would one acquire kindling – she did not think that there would be any. The Vanir was a healer and less than a dabbler in the vast array of magics; fire was not her strong suit, in all actually none of the elements were. Her meager abilities could help birth flame to an already built bonfire and only if the surrounding conditions (winds, humidity, air density and etcetera) were perfect. So she took premade fire spells, hoping that it was suffice (she could do no better), and best – that it would be just a precaution anyway.

For probably the first time in her life Sigyn thought wistfully of a different kind of magic to be obedient to her whims – the dark arts. In the forbidden section of the Palace Library she had seen quite a few tomes on it, at least a dozen contained knowledge of highest flame wielding – pyromancy: sun flare; nova; pyre flame; black, green, blue and white flame; winter blaze and so much more... Having power over any of those would aid greatly in keeping the Asgardians warm in the Ice Realm.

She shook her head, if anyone were to know of her thoughts on the subject or that she actually knew (even if it were just basic summaries or in some cases just names) of the black arcane arts – she would be punished severely. It would be of no importance – her honorable intent. Was it not said that the path to Hel was paved with good intentions? The woman absently thought that perhaps many had meant well, but the consequences of their actions were too horrid to take into account the idea underneath. She did not wish to join their ranks because of her naivety and foolishness.  

When she was done with her current assignment, she sighed in relief finding that there was still some time left.

The girl-woman had felt ill about the whole impending ordeal initially, although it seemed to be just a faulty premonition. But as the sands of time fell into oblivion of the past – the feeling intensified more than a hundred times. Now she knew that it would not end well, that it would somehow be so terrible that she found no words to describe it. Alas there was nothing she could do to stop it – only tag along in vain hopes to lessen whatever it was that waited for them in that world, which no one of their group had ever set foot in before.

She felt guilty, wretched – lesser than an insect, and she feared, feared of what repercussions her actions would bring. No, she was already resigned to whatever that would befall her and them all; as long as they returned alive – it was all that mattered.

The Lady-not-Lady did not want to doubt her had-to-be-King’s fighting abilities, but no matter how great the Thunder God was, silent voices in her head warned that it would not be enough. She was not used to betraying, she had never betrayed a soul – consciously or otherwise, that was against her very nature. And now she planned to betray the trust of the ones she liked to consider her friends (even if she was no more than an acquaintance or a servant to them). But enough was enough, it was all evil anyway – she simply had to pick the lesser one. It was better that the Crown Prince would return alive, rather than a corpse. She would be damned if she could make a choice and keep them all breathing but not do it because she valued his pride and her oaths more. None would die because she was a coward, the healer would beg for forgiveness later. And like that Sigyn Iwaldidottir decided; she had another task to take care of.                   

 

 


	4. When the dead go marching in

**Chapter four**

**_When the dead go marching in_ **

 

 

Passing through the Gatekeeper of the Rainbow Bride was easier than Sigyn had thought it would be. However it wasn’t the Prince’s authoritativeness that made Heimdall concede, it was the frighteningly stoic man’s curiosity which allowed their group to pass.

It should not have been strange – the fact that he knew of their destination. Even if he were not all-seeing, then surely the garb of some, as well as the recent happenings – could not have indicated a different purpose. Still the Guardian of the Bifröst commented that they should have dressed warmer. And his warning – that his gates would not open should thus pose a threat to his pledge to protect – was unnerving. But the healer did not wish war to befall Asgard, if such happening meant that she herself would survive – she did not want that, she was not that selfish.

This was not her first time traveling via the shimmering bridge, which connected the vast space of Cosmos. Still it left an unpleasant vertigo in its wake. She was glad that it was not the same as her first few times – nausea was an unwanted guest. The Vanir girl calmed herself with a silly little comparison – she interpreted the centrifuge created by the Bifröst as staying too long on a swing and then facing the repercussions. The childish metaphor of swinging – and not crossing stars and nebulae at the speed of a blink of an eye – was soothing.

* * *

 

Jotunheim was dark, if not for the pearlescent shine of snow it would have been too unbearable even for godly sight to conquer. The young Lady guessed that evening was falling in the Cold World. It was nighttime in Realm Eternal so if it was actually possible to measure time by such vast distances, if the realms truly turned the same way, then it was earlier in this desolate place. Asgard was bright and assuredly marching into the day anew, while the Ice Realm had to be dying in the day of old. She reckoned that it was always sunless and dreary in this world, the darkness seemed befitting in her mind.

But it was not the lack of light that moved her most. No, the woman was immediately stunned by the cold. She expected it but it was impossible to do so accurately. It was beyond words – the frost that set into her very bones. And try as she might, she was unable to fight the shivers that wracked her form.

Heimdall’s words echoed in her head menacingly: should they bring forth doom impossible to measure – they would remain lost here forever, salvation would not greet them with open arms. Neither would death, she thought. If their arrival was as unnoticed as it appeared, then when ice would win their outrageous little band over – there would be no Valkyries or her mother’s royal fleet to ferry their spirits away. Battle or no battle, this world was beyond the care of the ferrymen, the deceased as well. Given if their souls would escape the confines of their frozen bodies at all. The female did not think that Hel would be in their abilities to reach then, therefore they would all be left to wander for eternity. Such a deathless death was beyond the horror her mind could have ever spawned.

Her thoughts about this realm had been correct – the snow and frost was all over, but somehow different from what she had seen of such prior. Perhaps it was the absence of a sun that made it all so blue-ishly grey, not blinding her with its purity – like the snow-buried mountaintops of Svartalfheim had, which often inspired dementia to set its perilous wings upon the heads of those who spent too much time in such endless sheets of white-light. 

The girl-woman had expected to see humongous mountains, but how she had envisioned them – did not reflect reality. These structures of nature appeared to be hovering. No, that was not the correct word for it, they did look immensely heavy but stood on needle-thin bases – unmoving. They were all in straight verticals that could not have been anything if not forged by creatures. This realm was unbelievable.

The winds that were created by their abnormal method of arrival made one of the ‘mountains’ tumble down and the loudness of it startled her – that could not have been unheard by the inhabitants. However no one showed up and Thor ignored a remark from his comrades that their presence should never have ‘graced’ this world. He simply shrugged the comment off as if unhearing and beckoned everyone to follow.

As their band progressed slowly on foot Sigyn came to the realization that these pillar-like mountains were not mountains indeed – they were ruins of great structures. Having grown up in Asgard one might have formed a certain view on grandeur or become immune to it completely, however that was not the case for her. Whether that was due to her heritage or her nature – did not matter. The Vanir still found herself in awe at the beauty of Realm Eternal, but what she felt for this place of Eternal Cold was different – it was fearful respect. The crumbled remains of buildings were no less impressive than those of the Golden World.

The further she went the more frightened by this place she became. It held the silence of a tomb and the Prince answered to the seemingly rhetorical question that the Ice Jotunns were hiding like the cowards that they were. The Asynjur doubted the validity of his statement but it was not her place to oppose the royal Asgardian.

The deeper they ventured into the ruins the more it became apparent that it was not as destroyed as the initial view had depicted. A dome akin to a palace, which could have rivaled Gladsheim itself, arose in the distance. The feeling that they had landed in some important location intensified. The healer had no knowledge of the layout of this world, but it was more than possible that they were in the heart of it. She thought that there was no way that this fortress was abandoned, it was (as much as she could tell) still in a condition that could be inhabited. This would not bode well, she heard a voice repeat for probably the hundredth time this fateful day.

As they neared the ghostly castle, the Lady began to think that this was all a trap. She tried to redirect her mind into a different route, worry would not do her duty good, but it was difficult to transport her consciousness someplace else. With unspeakable effort she managed to continue assessing the ‘palace’. She wondered what it could have looked like in its days of glory and prosperity. It was more than obvious that beings capable of building such were no mere monsters, without thought or capacity for strategy. Even if it all were built and designed by slaves of war, still the ability to create such ploy was well beyond that of a dense creature. And wasn’t attesting lack of intellect to an enemy – that clearly was not short on it – a great danger itself? Sometimes she really did not understand how the Nine worked...               

* * *

 

There were runes hidden in the Realm, some buried deep underground, some placed on mountaintops, others secured within structures of old – they all formed an intricate sigil, outspread and embracing the vast World of Cold. They all become alive as the barrier was breached. Loki removed his fingers from his temples, he felt inside his head the exact moment that the shield was penetrated. In pain his nerves became alit as if thunder was traveling through them and buzzed incessantly.

The new King instantly felt the arrival of his guests. His little rabbit took the bait and ventured straight into his den. Like a trained hunter he was patient and waited for the trap to shut. Let them come right to his doorstep, he would greet those that he awaited...

His awareness of these strangers was not limited, he knew the exact number that now stood in his frosted lands. And still he peered down from his Throne to look into the freshly spilt blood of a Jotunn that lay at his feet. The view in the sanguine liquid allowed him to observe, it reflected not future – but the ‘now’ that occurred. The murky sight that he was presented with was enough, for now.

The Giant set his red eyes upon the one that led this band of ‘heroes’, strays truly and so far from home... He recognized the man instantly, even if the tales would lack the physical description, the way the Aesir held himself was quite unmistakable. He would recognize the Odinson anywhere. The arrogance was so obvious that even such an ethereal visage could not obscure it and the blue-skinned creature was intimately familiar with the trait. But when it was this foolish, this misplaced – it was unworthy of respect; not something he could ever share like this. Like lambs to slaughter the Thunderer led his troops amongst vultures; so vulnerable, so utterly foolish. And so he would wait, this was when the dead go marching in after all. The demise would be so easy to grant, but he had different plans in his cunning mind...     

The Prince, now self-crowned into a higher station, did not care for the kinsman that served as scrying material now. He killed the Jotunn himself and remorse was not in his repertoire. It was deserved anyway. The being was slight for his kind but nonetheless greater than the small royal male, however such limitations never bothered the ‘survivor’. This death was sly, not really a fight – an assassination more likely.

The deceased had been an advisor in _Laufey’s_ misbalanced court. The position was upheld even after the shifting of the Rulers. The man had been clever, not your usual Frost Giant material. More mind, less brawl – and it was something he should have appreciated. And maybe he would have, had the man questioned less his new authority. A great head that he had on his shoulder did not help him now that he was a corpse. But when he was still alive there were forcedly respectful inquiries – there where they should not have been present.

This barge-in on the Allfather’s door, what would that enthrall for their figuratively dying race? Laufeyson could understand where these vitally important questions came from, alas he had low tolerance for those who failed to comply with his commands. And so he did not deny the possibility that his secret schemes could be thwarted and whispered by the councilor into Odin’s ear if the opportunity arose – and that was simply unacceptable. Therefore it was not against logic that this overly nosey Ice Jotunn would serve a different, higher purpose. As a carcass he had more use than he would if he had been kept breathing.

Killing brethren was not unthinkable to the new Leader. He was not well liked amongst his own people, no more was he appreciated beyond these lands as well. Such had never bothered him; he took what he wanted and removed anything that stood in his path. Why, the very way he came to his post did not gain him admirers. What the Heir had done before committing patricide was also not honorable by any means, but that was not his fault anyway. Unlike what some ‘better’ races thought, these kinds of actions were not viewed as wholly admirable by the Jotnar. Cruelty was not worshipped blindly, and while his people lacked the convictions like those of heroic Asgardians, it was accepted – not appreciated. Besides if not for their current Lord, they would no longer have anyone strong to turn to, opposing him was madness and the beings of ice did not lack foresight as much to dare do so.      

In his mind the one at fault for his heinous crimes was the deceased King. Had Laufey not known that he wished to rule? By all means that was his right, he was the Crown Prince. He was raised for this purpose. But rather than getting the proper training to become what he was now, he was raised upon the _idea_. Had it been any different, if he were convinced that reigning over Jotunheim was not his destiny, then he would not have opposed stepping aside and allowing another to lead the Frost Giants. Alas it was not so...

He could often disappear and no one cared for it, but the oldest child was still present at times in court as was befit someone of his position. The former Ruler had forever viewed him with something that made his cold blood boil. It was something, something... was it disappointment perhaps? That held no meaning now, for his father was dead and that was that.

Long before his death, the Jotunn King had called upon a fraction of his court, consisting of those he trusted _more_ (but there was no actual trust given to anyone, it was perhaps the same paranoia that Loki shared as well). The small circle was made aware of the one who would inherit his legacy, the castaway royal male was also present. To the surprise of most, the chosen Heir was not the eldest son, it was the second born – Helblindi. The firstborn was angered by this: how dared the man who called himself by _that_ name, deny him of his birthright?! In his opinion his brothers, his half-brothers – were bastards. He was the sole child of the Queen, therefore he was the legitimate Heir.

It should not have been peculiar – the events that followed. Soon after that, Helblindi, a man in his own right at that time, had been found murdered just beside the Throne. His head was severed from his shoulders and the assassin had not even attempted to cover his tracks. To those who had known of the decision it should have been clear – the culprit, however nothing had been done to find the guilty.

Laufey had simply looked at his oldest with that same look and as always the Princeling felt that he did not exist to his predecessor. Perhaps it was because nothing could have been done or perhaps it was because he was _her_ son, but punishment had not come for him either way. The people, unknowing of the selected Heir and assuming it to be the one born first, had simply been told that the middle child of their Leader was slain. Ice Giants, being what they were, had not asked any questions and hadn’t found the information to be of any true importance. They were not bothered by any possible future (since they had deemed it secure enough) and they continued living in the present.

And so, for the moment, Loki had been content. Years passed and the fact that he had killed his own flesh and blood disappeared as the trifle thing for him that it was. Life had returned to its path and he hadn’t cared that his father remained in power. But peace for him had never been a constant state and once again he had begun seething. The ‘trusted’ ones had gathered again (he was also there) and so the King chose an Heir once more. Why he had done so, the small Jotunn did not know. There were several millennia that the man could have ruled, so from where the need to appoint his future successor had come from – was a mystery still.

For the second time it had not been him to get the recognition. It was the third child, the youngest son – Byleistr, who had unknowingly received the title. So sooner than the last killing had taken place, barely a week after the secret meeting, the young adolescent was found dead in his bed. While the boy had been sleeping, his throat was slit. It was a merciful end and Byleistr had simply not woken up the next morning.

The eldest Prince had sent both of his siblings to Hel, to meet their mother. He did not hold the two males as his brothers, not even his half-brothers. It was blood that connected them – yes, but that was where it all ended. They had not been close, not at all and he even doubted whether the two had held any brotherly affection for one another. They had been brought-up with great metaphorical distance between them, even more so than was norm for Frost Giants, who usually led independent lives. They were strangers – not brothers. But still the youngest had died in a painless way. Loki needed him out of the way – that did not mean that the child had to suffer though.

Laufey had done nothing when he found the youngest dead, the cycle only repeated. Worst of all, the passed King did not harbor any guilt for his own faulty choices. So how could the kin-slayer feel any when the father’s heart was as cold as ice?...

Truly, he felt no remorse for taking these extreme measures. The only things he ever regretted were things he had never had any control over – such as those that occurred prior his birth or at the time of his infancy. And those thoughts always led to such heaviness that he was unused to feeling, to grieving over things he could not mend... This line of thought was not for now though, he had guests to greet and not history to ponder...    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helblindi and Byleistr are Loki's brothers according to Norse mythology. The aforementioned one's name means Hel-blinder or All-blind, the latter's – Bee-lightning.


	5. Demanding guests

**Chapter five**

**_Demanding guests_ **

The group of Asgardians marched deeper into the grounds of the ‘palace’. Everyone clutched their weapons, they were feeling weary about this situation. Only their leader was calm and confident, it was not in his nature to tread carefully and cautiously. He was a warmonger, not someone familiar with something like espionage.

They walked further into the courtyard of the grand, crumbling dome, at least Sigyn thought that it was the front courtyard. She tried to distract herself with contemplating the structure. It was not like what she had heard about Midgardian castles – there were no smaller buildings that could have housed the people of the lower tiers, therefore perhaps this estate was more like the heart of Realm Eternal.

There were also no gates or surrounding walls present, nothing that could indicate the presence of any physical barricades against enemies. The young Lady had to remind herself that this world had been devastated by war, so maybe those walls had been destroyed during it. However the wreckage was overall visible, but there were completely no signs of any remains of stone barriers, not even the bases of the defending structures were caught by her sight. She theorized that there hadn’t been any to begin with, maybe the Jotunns had never assumed an attack to be possible. Or perchance their defenses were similar to those of Asgard – based on magic rather than fences of rock. Somehow the idea eased her mind. It was foolish though, because if that was indeed the case – then this place was more dangerous than initially believed. It was probably the familiarity of such a possibility that calmed her. She was not in her usual state of mind and known things made it easier for her to deal with this sensation akin to that of a fish being removed from its bowl of water.   

The girl followed while submerged within great unease. It was not usual for her to be this close to the action. She could only hope that a battle would not occur, but this mission was so sketchy that she did not know exactly what to expect. When she did her duty on the battlefield she nearly always was in some further encampment, tending to the wounded there. Even if it were not so, the female would heal someone as far away from the fighting as was possible. It was not that she feared for her own wellbeing, but it simply did not make sense to be there where she would be a nuisance rather than an asset. If there would be an armed collision right here, then the presence of a helper (such as she) would be a hindrance. A healer who would have to be protected was useless. She was meant to aid the fallen but that would be impossible if she should occupy herself with fending for her life or trying her best to avoid being struck. Alas in this situation there were no encampments, no safe corners for her to retreat into. They could not have left the Vanir somewhere else because she could always be taken or killed by one of the realm dwellers – and that would destroy the purpose of bringing her in the first place. Leaving her behind and having someone guard the girl-woman was illogical as well. Therefore she had no other option but to simply tag along and hope that all would be well. 

The female half-blood prayed to the Norns that her eyes would be deceiving her. Alas from her peripherals she could tell that her orbs were not the only ones looking around in a frantic manner. It was only wishful thinking – to believe that this was a mirage, an illusion caused by the Cold World. There was movement behind the ruins, above them, in the shadows... If it were singular then it would have been possible to simply have been an animal, however it was not. The only explanation was – _Frost Giants_. She may have not known much about strategy, but even to her it was clear, by the amount of these shadowy presences – that they were surrounded.

Prince Thor was uncaring, he roared to the presences.

“Show yourselves!”

Sigyn was glad that he had not called the hidden ones ‘cowards’, like he had referred to Jotunns before. She assumed that they would not take well to such an insult, however the absence of it did not quell her fraying nerves.

“I am Thor Odinson--”

“ _We know who you are, Thunderer_ ” a disembodied voice replied to the bellowing call. It echoed magnificently amongst the deteriorating remains of a once grand fortress. The tone was calm and cold, colder than the realm itself. It frightened the Vanir immensely, inspiring stronger chills to wrack her from, these tremors she could not ease even slightly with will-force alone. Despite the apathy tangible in the sound, it was not soothing in any way. The voice was low and petrifying, however it did not sound demented or even attempting to instill fear. The texture of it (even with the lowness and depth) was velveteen, something that could have not only been used in commanding, but also be pleasant to the ear. To the untitled Lady – loud, earsplitting battle cries or raging screams of accusations were not as terrifying as this. This emanated danger, it was pure danger reincarnate. She was not an amazing judge of character, but in her fitful and scattered estimations – it sounded intellectual and sinister.   

With the appearance of the voice, the invisible motions had ceased immediately, but their presence remained. It was as if the sound puppeteered the shadows.  

However the Throne Heir of Asgard was unfazed, he simply continued with the interrupted stating of purpose.

“I have come here to find out the cause of why the contract was breached and why you stepped foot into _my_ Realm!” 

The wielder of the ricocheting voice (the direction of which was difficult to pinpoint, best assumption was that it came from the great structure itself) did not reveal himself. However silence was not met.

“ _My, what demanding guests do we have_...” it dragged out in playful malice; the answer – not given.

“Answer me! What cowardice permeated declaration of war is this?! Show yourself and answer me! Who showed you the path to Asgard?!”

“ _Presumptions, aren’t you, Odinson? You claim the actions of a few to represent the actions of a realm. The only threat of war that I see, is the one before me. Is it not Asgard declaring war on Jotunheim_ ” it was not a question and the taunting in the last sentence was evident, even if the laughter was missing.

“ _There are traitors in Odin’s court, they have showed the way to Gladsheim_ ”    

“Do not dare slander the court of the Allfather!”

The shadows became alive, from every nook and cranny the inhabitants of the realm revealed themselves slowly. Sigyn’s heart went to her throat, her knees shook – they were surrounded. Imposing creatures as tall as their heritage told – appeared. They were frightening, bare-chested – their strong musculature showed. From the blue skin with intricate markings to the reds of their eyes – the tales rung true – they were Giants indeed.

The God of Thunder remained unintimidated. Volstagg clutched his axe and said the royal one’s name, but he remained uncaring. His head was stubbornly turned to the entrance of the palace, and while the shaking healer could not see, she was sure that his eyes did not leave the presumed direction the bodiless voice spoke from.

As the Jotunns stepped forth from the places they had lurked in waiting, the voice became closer and echoed less.

“ _You came to hear the truth and now you have it_ ”

Atop the huge stairs of the fortress a figure emerged from the darkness. The blonde woman could not tear her gaze away from it, she felt as though her body had become stone, it did not respond to her instincts or commands. It was a Frost Giant and very small for a Giant. Despite the distance she could tell that he was tall by Asgardian measures, perhaps no shorter than the Aesir Prince himself. However she could tell that it was no child, it was a man. His stature should have been less imposing, alas he instilled fear no less than what the female presumed to be his subjects.

His garb was different from what the others wore. The shape of the piece of clothing did not resemble a skirt, it was a piece of a much longer material that was connected by strings and shiny clasps with the fabric at the back, his legs were visible at the sides. Unlike the other beings, he had his black hair long and smoothed back. A silver-tinted circlet was atop the male Jotunn’s head – signifying royalty. His stance was relaxed, showing grace and poise, it oozed confidence. Sigyn felt alarmed, his presence seemed lulling and that made him even more dangerous than his brethren. 

“I should take your coming here as a declaration of war – like you did when Jotnar wandered into Asgard. However, I will be graceful – you are allowed to leave our World. So leave and never return” his voice had lost its disembodied sound as well as the low depth, but all the other qualities remained. The tone was apathetic yet held a certain sense of power underneath the indifference.

Lady Sif approached the Storm God, she whispered something to him. The Asgardian’s posture became rigid, he did not reply in any way to the Leader of the monstrous creatures.

Without a word he showed his acceptance by turning his back and beginning to walk away. The girl almost gave a sigh of relief – they would return home safe, this adventure would end without losses.  


	6. Dullest of eyes, the dullest of minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are quite a few changes in the POVs within this chapter. They are all separated by paragraphs (I did not use lines to separate them because I usually use those to signify a gap in time, also if I would have used them- then there would have been too many). I advise you to read carefully and mind the paragraphs and changes in naming – those additionally signify whose point of view you are reading.  
> Additionally, there is a part of the sixth chapter that is separated by lines – that is a very specific change in POV and it is singled out because it covers a shift in time (it does not follow with the events chronologically).

**Chapter six**

**_Dullest of eyes, the dullest of minds_ **

 

Loki tired of lurking in the shadows. Playing with their perception of sound quickly lost its glamor; it was little magic and more the great acoustics of the palace. The Thunderer was not deceived however as his gaze was turned into his general direction throughout the exchange. The King wished to see the _Golden_ (he sneered it in his mind, the word heavily laced with mockery) son of Odin, eye to eye.

The Ruler of Jotunheim stepped forth into the light. His thought process was swift, like a winged creature on strong and favorable winds. He observed the band of Aesir.

The Asgardian Prince was first in his sight, he could feel the God’s warmonger spirit simmer beneath a barely upheld façade. Many would have described him as impressive, the Giant failed to see thus. For all the tales and epithets surrounding the _Hero_ , they all missed to mention how much he lacked intelligence. But that was all to the icy creature’s gain. He knew that it was not by the Odinfather’s bidding that his Heir stood before him now. Such a meager delegation of warriors would not manage to devastate a realm as filled with vengeful beings as his was.

The Allfather feared the previous King, but he did not know that Laufey was dead. It was to be expected of the God of Wisdom to be wise, and so – threatening the Cold World was foolish – when it was proven that Realm Eternal was within reach of violent ice. The High God would have overlooked this pitiful attempt and turned his attention to Jotunheim only if such an occurrence repeated itself. When armies could lay siege to his world by some mysterious way – Odin would not risk an open war. However, as planned, his son was not of same thought.

The group consisted of five other individuals, three males and two females. The hands of the warriors lingered atop their weapons, others clutched theirs openly. The fear was delicious, it stroked his vanity. One huddled figure caught his sight, it seemed misplaced. It was a small woman, although it was not the gender that struck him as odd. She had no weapon and her hands were not clenched into fists, her posture was not that of a warrior’s either. Instead her arms were winded around her body as if in an embrace. She had hair of the oddest color – not white like of some Jotnar nor golden as that of some Aesir; it was moonlight colored, appearing as if made of captured silver moonbeams. It was all gathered back. Due to his gifted eyesight he could make out wide green eyes, in fright she looked up to him, however their gazes did not meet. This girl was not a warrior, therefore it birthed the questions of what she was and why was she here. The crowned Prince mentally shook his head, it was of no importance why this creature stood knee-deep in snow, here in this place at this time. He would find out the reason behind this tag-along later, then all the pieces of the puzzle would fit.

The leader of this meant-to-perish band of _heroes_ , the royal one asked so little of what was vital. A lie here, a lie there – Loki deceived. Lies spilled from his treacherous mouth like waters from Hvergelmir. Did he truly believe that the truth would be so freely given, so easily achieved? Well, that did not matter. Words were the Frost Giant’s domain, in the terms of Aesir – he was the one to _god-over_ them. Therefore the Deceiver would never utter something that would not be beneficial to him.             

Another lie. He allowed them to leave, although they could not. The Ruler of Jotunheim was mildly surprised when with the convincing of a dark-haired warrioress the Thunderer turned his back to walk away. However he knew that the male was not content with the answers he had received and that he did not think that this conflict was solved. So he would give the Throne Heir a reason to _stay_.

It was one of those occasions when the Jotunn was glad for the meddling of his kin. Without his prompting one of his subjects, the one that stood closest to the Asgardian royalty, uttered a phrase that rekindled the thirst for battle within the Aesir Prince. The Ice Giant called the man a ‘princess’ and he paid for that dearly – the hammer was swung.

Without his explicit order his people attacked the group of foreigners. A great battle was unleashed. The King – by murder – watched the scene unfold before him in satisfaction. He would have manipulated all of this to happen in some manner, without putting blame on his brethren or himself, though those plans had been thwarted – he was not angered by this.

By Mjölnir the Ice Jotnar fell like flies. The God of Thunder was certainly a force to be reckoned with. The warriors he brought along were also formidable and now more than a dozen Giants were nothing but corpses. However this domineering of the heated battlefield did not last long. The superior numbers of the realm dwellers were too much to handle even for such gifted soldiers.

It was a busy sight to behold and it was slightly troublesome to keep each of the six within his circle of undivided awareness. Despite the cosmic racket of the skirmish, a shout of pain attracted the attention of the idling male. This was the moment when the disadvantage of the Asgardians showed itself in its full glory. A blond warrior was pierced with a pike of ice through the chest. That had garnered the wanted reaction. Soon the others were helping the wounded one and yelling to their leader that it was time to retreat. His reply was that they could leave but he was staying within the enemy swarm. Loki understood that it was not an action meant to win more time for the others to escape, no, it was more the Storm God’s whim to stay and fight than anything else.

They began retreating and the bleeding one was also carried with them. What foolishness, the Frost Giant thought, there was no use bringing ‘friends’ to battle not easily won, when it was much wiser to leave the wounded ( _the lost_ ) behind. Then again, there were no sorrowful songs that he’d heard about Thor, which would tell tales about a lost mission for peace. Therefore judging by the actions of the God as well as what he’d heard, it was safe to assume that he had not tasted the bitterness of true loss. That led the contemplating Jotunn to form a belief that the Aesir did not assume anything else than victory possible. What a truly stupid creature Odin’s son was.

Still the wielder of the Relic of Thunder sweeped his troops away and sent them to Hel with ease. This was a bother, naturally his ranks would not lessen by such a small number, but given time the Thunderer could change that and thus was not acceptable. And so he’d give them something more challenging to tussle with, that way lessening the blow to his arsenal of fight-ready followers. He gave call and it was answered, an ancient beast awoke from beneath snow and ice. A huge creature, a hundred feet tall monster was roused from slumber. His pet jumped forward and shook the ground, cracking its very foundation. Ignoring the busy Asgardian Prince it instantly targeted its running victims.

The King could feel the joy rise within his escaping _guests_ when the beast fell into a ravine his own heavy leaps had formed. The icy ground cracked and swallowed the creature whole. They continued running away from the grounds of the fortress in vain hopes to lengthen the distance between themselves and a meager squad of this World’s great armies. What they did not know, was that the monstrous being was not easy to kill and the underground posed it no threat, it was its actual dwelling. It was much slower above ground – but below, below it travelled like light in the spacious natural dungeons of the Ice Realm.

The reemergence of the frightening creature startled them, with Fandral fallen and unable to fight, it was an impossible predicament for them to overcome. Such a gargantuan beast required strategy to take down, only a fool would go against a dragon with a spear and this situation was similar to that ludicrous scenario.          

As expected, this cornering of his allies had brought the Golden Prince back to the moment. He cleared a small space about himself by crushing the skulls and spines of the foes closest and began swinging his hammer above head. He instantly took flight and he rushed to his endangered kin, each second giving him additional speed. Mjölnir in front he used it and his body-mass – timed by thousands due to speed – to effectively slay Loki’s pet by making a sizable hole in the back of its head.

The Monarch of these lands frowned, that was waste of a good specimen. However he shrugged it off in a moment, as much as he hated to have one of his pets killed, they were still expendable. More than a few rested within the grounds of his Dome, there were more hidden in other places and there was also an innumerous quantity of all sorts of creatures free of his will in the wild. Truly, this was not such a loss – when there was so much that he would gain...

The troops followed after the causes of this stirrup. The small Giant bade one of his generals to remain beside him.

Thor’s name was shouted by his friends. The Jotunns were rapidly approaching, their count far too great – this was not a fight the Aesir could win. The highborn Asgardian finally seemed to realize the severity of their situation. He called for the Guardian of the Bifröst.

“Heimdall!”

Sigyn’s legs hurt from the running, she was not used to such strain. Her limbs were numbed by the freezing cold. However her own hardships were not her primal worry. Fandral was wounded and she could not aid him while moving like this. None of his vitals were harmed (she could tell without checking) but he still needed to be transported to the healing rooms immediately. Or at the very least be brought to a safe place where she herself could fix some of the damage. If the warrior received no aid, he would perish in a matter of days, depending on how strong was his will to survive. She wished to return home as quickly as possible. 

No answer came. Their arrival did not yet pose a threat to their World, so what was taking him so long to return them to where they belonged?

The God of Thunder bellowed heavenward once more.  

“Heimdall!”

Jotunheim’s King smirked sinisterly. They kept calling the Gatekeeper – but Heimdall could not hear that which he could not see...

The battalion of their nemesis drew nearer by every precious second. The motions that had rocked the very core of the Ice Realm: the reckless running and fall of the humongous monster, as well as the multitudes of moving Frost Giants – had caused their ripples. The fragile foundation was cracked and the natural pillars of ice that held the aboveground from beneath were destabilized, the weak ones gave-in. The very earth split between the Aesir and the approaching Jotunns. Some of the latter had made it beyond the opening rift.

The ground swayed and fell downwards, taking the creatures atop with it. The separated piece of land collided with a nearby island of ice. Barely making the jump the band of _heroes_ avoided being crushed. To their disadvantage their foes did make the leap with trained ease, such was not a difficult feat for them.

The Gods quickly gathered themselves and the battle began anew. Despite the seemingly isolated grounds, inside they all felt that the adversaries left behind would reach them sooner or later. And they were not wrong, the residents of this realm were adapted to living among these uneven grounds and delicate icy basing. It would not take them long to descend into the ravine and then proceed to climb up and reach the trespassers.

This had lasted long enough and it was losing its appeal – with that thought the King turned his attention to the general that stood beside him. He gave the man his orders.

“After the Thunderer is dealt with, capture the Aesir alive. Do not attack the wounded and non-warriors.”

After hearing the command the Giant left immediately towards the combat. He had not questioned the reasoning of his Leader and the one in power did not need to explain the order – these two reasons were why the male had retained his position as commander when Loki’s reign began. This Jotunn was intelligent but not autonomous enough to pose a threat.

And so the crowned Jotunn Prince turned on his heel and entered the Palace. He sought a higher vantage point, so he could observe the happenings better. 

The onslaught did not lessen despite their best efforts, their enemies just kept replacing the fallen ones. They showed no concern for their killed brethren and simply pushed them off the edge of the cliff when the corpses got in their way, using such a horrifying method once the island become too crowded and lessened the fighting space.

The towering Giants seemed uncaring of the healer and the wounded male that was leaning heavily on the woman. The two warriors and warrioress tried to keep the advance at bay, attempting to shield their incapacitated comrade and the female. The attackers tasked themselves with taking out the trio and did not seek to get through the holes in their defense – in order to slay the ones that did not actively participate in the fight. It was as if they did not considered them to be their primal worry, the two could be dealt with later – that thought did not ease the light-haired girl. If not for her long duty of serving on the battlefield she would not have been able to multitask (although she was aware that she was not doing so efficiently). She could not allow Fandral the luxury of lying down, so she simply tried to keep him upright. One of her hands was touching his wound and trying to stop the bleeding, while her eyes were frantically attempting to spot any approaching Jotunns – in case they thought that it was time to get rid of them. The Vanir hoped that they would be able to see an advance and dolt out of its way (if that was actually possible, the man’s movement was slow and she was not strong enough to help him hasten it by much).

Thor was hammering the blue-skinned monsters in a fury. The scarcely-clouded sky of Jotunheim was unresponsive to his calls, the coldness of the heavens refused to aid him. The God of Thunder was the epicenter of the raging storm, feeling the anger of thunder in its high-point. However much to his dismay the stubborn weather allowed to call forth only several bolts of lightning, which struck too few of his adversaries. 

The cunning creature picked out a tower of moderate height, not bothering with climbing higher. With the honed eyesight gifted by his shapeshifting abilities he was able to see well the scene unfolding, the creatures on the separated piece of land were no longer dots in the distance. It was as obvious as February’s frost – the Asgardians were losing.

He looked at the middle of a circle formed by his subjects. Within it there were two beings: a blond male – the wounded warrior and the female with silverine hair. The dark-haired man smirked to himself – he had been correct, this woman was no soldier. Judging by the place her hand was lingering – within the man’s fur coat – it was safe to say that she was tending to his wounds, so most possibly the Aesir girl was a healer.

This sight was beginning to become boring, alas he could not draw his crimson gaze away. By all means he should have felt elation but in reality this was the actual moment of truth, a time crucial to his plot. The powerful being of ice could have created theses all he wanted – but in the end it was all based on prudent guesses, there was no way to be sure that this scheme would work without fail. He waited to find out the fluidity of his plan...

Tremors shook the needle-thin standing island the representatives of the two races were fighting atop. Odinson quickly took interest in it, at the same time the Frost Giants had decided to retreat slowly. They did not leave – only lingered by the edges, as if making way for whatever that would try and take a shot at the Aesir, with all the intent to return if this attempt failed. By the force of the shakes it was easy to tell that it was not the beast of the same kind as before, no this... thing was lighter. 

First what the Golden Throne Heir saw were two _hands_ heavily setting themselves onto the ice, as the creature proceeded to hoist himself up onto the ground. It did not spare a minute to glance about and simply faced the Storm God, and then began its lethargic approach head-on. This action put a grin on the man’s face, erasing all the troublesome thoughts concerning their dangerous disposition. He took this slow, very slow advancing as a challenge. There was nothing smart about an open attack, however perhaps it was not too foolish if this being truly had power in it.

The foreign Prince found himself with ample time to evaluate the creature, he called ‘it’ a creature because it was difficult to determine what it was. He would have instantly referred to anything other than a Jotunn as a creature (because there were only animals present here to his knowledge), but with careful judgment he came to the belief that this was indeed a Frost Giant. It was taller than its kin, about twice as large as one. Slightly paler in the blue color of its skin and it had tiny (probably) red eyes – just duller in some odd way. Its frame was of hulking muscle and such a short neck, that it appeared as if the Giant did not have one. Its figure was reminiscent of a Troll’s. Its flat head was seemingly embedded in the mountain-like muscled hunch of its back. The arms of the Jotunn were also disproportioned – longer, reaching to its knees. This creature-Jotunn looked deformed but not by torture or maiming – no, Thor had seen such. This was more likely a case of deformities from birth, rather than those caused by harming of the body at a later age. The thunderous Asgardian swung Mjölnir idly – this was going to be fun.   

With the pause in defense of the Gods of Realm Eternal they all turned their attention to the reason for this cease of fighting. Their minds were completely stolen by this ugly, maimed monster. Their field of observation became so lax that no one noticed their leader’s back being encircled by the enemy from the distance.

The fight began with the huge Giant throwing a clenched fist towards its victim. The attack was too slow, the much smaller Asgardian deflected it with ease. Much of their combat progressed the same way. The Princeling had managed to even strike the stupid thing with his hammer several times, however it just shrugged the hits off. The Godling was both amused and displeased – he was clearly winning but there really was no game in this. With his bored beating of the malformed Ice Jotunn he grew completely ignorant to his surroundings.

In a flash of a second he become aware of a strange twist in the wind – the type caused by moving. He felt a malicious presence behind his back and turned to strike down the cowards, who dared to attack him like this, and send them to greet their ancestors. Mid-lightning something happened, something Thor could never have expected, not even in his wildest dreams...

The bolt from the skies hit the six or so Giants that attacked his unguarded back, the current of the attack did not shock or harm him in anyway. The creature in front of him was also struck, however it did not relent and seemed to have gotten over the previous brunt blow inflicted to its chest – which had obviously cracked its sternum. The God of Thunder barely managed to even notice the deformed Jotunn as he made a lunge – swifter than all of its previous and sluggish attempts at causing damage. Asgard’s best could not block it...

* * *

The King noticed a lone figure, much larger than any other Jotunn walking slowly in the far distance. Thrym had finally arrived. Their people in general were not overly interested in being part of a commune, many were wanderers – such as this oversized Giant. He was not an outcast by any means, however it was probably easier for him to function further away from any forms of society.

The royal one was not bothered by the Frost being’s existence, so he allowed it to continue. He found no purpose for him, he could not be part of the army nor were there any other reason that the Ruler could think of to keep him close. So it was just knowledge of him living somewhere that was pushed out of his main concerns. That was until he had begun plotting this outrageous scheme, then he had found a purpose for the loner Ice Jotunn.

The creature was the dullest of minds and Loki believed that his mind was truly a void. He acted on instinct alone – survival, caring only for sustenance and a safe place to slumber. The basic need to be far from harm and well-fed. And that was with what the plotting Leader bribed him. He had never heard Thrym speak and was not aware whether he could, although he seemed to understand what the tiny man asked of him (on an instinctual level, the King hoped). There had never been any recognition behind the beady, strangely utterly black eyes. It appeared as though the Frost Giant did not comprehend the world about him, neither consciously nor subconsciously.

He was impossible to interact with but the rightful, ascended Heir of Jotunheim was patient (although the creature did not understand what or who talked to him). His intellect was not that of a child, no, it was completely absent as a whole. So the small male tried to illustrate what he wanted and offered by action. In front of the unseeing eyes of the being the swift Prince hunted down an animal – and he seemed to comprehend that it was food. How well-defined those instincts were the Ruler did not know, but the deformed Jotunn followed him anyway. Perhaps in his head it was clear that this fast _thing_ could produce more to eat. The Cold World was not barren and Thrym had sought out what to consume on his own, but with the coming of the Winter Solstice – the animals became scarcer, many of them hid. And with the slowness of this brainless being – he could not catch enough (for such a thing as a trap was beyond his capacity to comprehend, much less implement).

This particular Jotunn was chosen exactly for his hollowness. The crafty Monarch theorized that this was most possibly the only thing that could breach the Allfather’s magic. There was only one way to truly defeat the Thunderer – to take away the powerful relic he used. But Loki knew that none could lift it, Mjölnir could only be taken by one worthy of its power. The only scale by which the worthiness was measured was Odin’s opinion, so only his son could wield it – therefore it really had nothing to do with one’s soul, heart, goodwill or good deeds. This law could not be gone about, could not be tricked – but the dark male was a Trickster in his own right. If there was someone who could break something without breaking it – then it was only him.

Thrym was an abnormality, a natural abnormality. He was living yet not, existent yet inexistent as well. The Universe strived for balance, so a singularity was not something that should have been possible within this equilibrium. However the Ice Giant’s very essence was so natural, like that of a mountain or a tree, that he simply belonged while not really belonging to any reality. That was so because he did not have any contact with the surrounding, when by his bloodline – he should have. He had the self-awareness of a plant or a flake of snow – thus should have been impossible but it was not.

If nothing could truly lift the Heavenly Hammer – then nothing could either hold it or touch it. With that in equation it would prove impossible for it to be taken away from the Asgardian Prince. But the highborn Giant found a loophole. Mjölnir was not untouchable and it was not unimaginably heavy – its weight was simply magic (too strong and too powerful for the Frost Jotunn sorcerer to break though). If this were not so, then Thor’s weapon could never leave his hand because then – when it would come to contact with whatever material – nothing would be able to uphold the enchanted hammer. It would fall through the ground and through the realm, and so it would ‘cut’ through the entire Universe. However thus did not occur because Mjölnir did not react to inanimate objects. It was an object itself and not an ethereal one, no, it obviously belonged to the physical world. This theory could lead to the belief that if the relic were to be placed upon a surface of some sort, then it could be carried, alas that was perceived by the God of Wisdom and so it was still within the restrictions of worthiness. The only way to retrieve the hammer – were if something natural or unnatural would hoist it, but without the enchanting or will of a living, breathing being.

As the young man had thought of this, mulling over the paradox for the thousandth time – he’d come to an epiphany. There was only one creature in the Nine that he knew of, which was existent and inexistent at the same time, as blank as an inanimate object yet within his abilities to manipulate without really manipulating. It was Thrym.

* * *

 

The Schemer held his breath (of course figuratively because although he was alone, he did not show any outward signs of his mental state). The battle died and a combat between the representatives of two races began. The reason for the ceasing onslaught stole the attention of the Aesir and so their previous foes were forgotten, but the latter did not forget them. Half a dozen of his soldiers approached the Thunderer from behind – he was blind to it. Although he noticed but in the end it was too late and the distraction had worked as intended. To the quickest of his abilities the deformed Frost Giant went for the God’s weapon and wrenched it away.

Loki closed his eyes; the hammer had not fallen down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following clarification was prompted by a reader who had asked this when the fifth chapter was first published online on fanfiction.net I had thought that I should write the clarification in the bottom author's note's of the sixth - since the answer to that question is given there.  
> I may need to clarify the identity of the traitor – there is none. As it says in the chapter – Loki lied and it was just me playing on the actual dialogue from the movie. 
> 
> Hvergelmir (name in Old Norse meaning – bubbling/boiling spring) – is one of the three mystical wells (water-bodies) that exist in Yggdrasill. It is a well (or a spring, or a mother-river), mostly it is described as the source of all waters in the World Tree.
> 
> Thrym (name in Old Norse meaning – uproar) – now, neither this name nor this Giant is an invention of my own. This is an actual Jotunn from the Norse mythology, but heavily reworked to suit my purpose. Originally, this persona is from a myth in which Mjölnir is stolen. Thrym steals it in order to bargain for the hand of Freya in marriage. The Love Goddess declines and so with Loki's aid, disguised as the bride, Thor goes to retrieve his hammer. And of course he succeeds. But the reason why I had used Thrym in particular is that in the myth it is revealed that he can actually handle the weapon (or handle to an extent). So I used the name but not exactly the persona from the myths, basically what you read was the only (believable, or mostly believable) theory I had come up with concerning the taking of Mjölnir.


	7. King of Jotunheim

**Chapter seven**

**_King of Jotunheim_ **

 

 

For Sigyn everything happened in a blur. However that lapse in coherence was not swift at all. She was vaguely aware of her comrades’ vain struggle, even Fandral – while greatly wounded – still fought against the overpowering Giants. Alas the girl had turned to stone – was simply petrified in place. She could not comprehend what was happening, much less could she show some resistance. It felt as though she was observing everything from afar, and it all unfolded like a terrifying spectacle. Despite the utter freezing of her mind one thought managed to be born tangible – they were captured...

It was not only the young Lady who found it difficult to fully grasp the situation. Due to the Asgardians’ primal concern being breaking free – they too had sacrificed their observing skills. During the battle Volstagg had been harmed, a touch of a Jotunn had disintegrated his gauntlet and severely damaged his forearm. However when the inhabitants of Jotunheim carried them (were they carried?) none had suffered to the same extent. Yes, amongst the resisting ones there were dislocated shoulders and bruises would surely bloom on their Aesir skin, beneath the thick robes that they wore – but those, in comparison, were minor injuries.

In the expanse of the slowly trickling time the half-blood Vanir had regained the ability of thought for a moment. She had never been held captive, and as a prisoner of war no less (in truth none of the foreigners to the Cold World had ever been pushed into a position such as this, perhaps that was the reason why they could not make any wise decisions and simply uselessly fought to the best of their abilities). Despite never being taken by the enemy, the light-haired female knew what usually awaited the captives – it never ended well for them.

Her mind had desperately tried to take flight and hide in her little fantasies about Vanaheim and other silly little things that were soothing. Still, fear was ever-present as it overshadowed her imaginary, mental haven. Horrifying thoughts sprung like water from a broken damn, flooding her with pictures so vile and frightening that the woman had never believed her psyche having the capacity to conjure. What would befall them now? How could it all have gone so wrong? Why were they not slain there, why did their blood not taint the snow of this desolate realm? Where were they being brought to? What trials awaited them? Would they be tortured? Or maybe thrown into a dungeon with no means of escape, forgotten and left to wither away by the hand of unmerciful time? She felt sick and weak. They were being taken somewhere and that was terrible all on its own, execution did not sound as terrifying as it should have – now that it was being left in the distance.

By her servitude as an Asynjur and a healer – she was familiar with magic. However neither her duty nor her unimpressive and dull life beyond it – had ever been met with the dark arts or any other potent magic that was forbidden in Asgard. So having no actual basis she thought that perhaps this was what it felt like to fall prey to powerful sorcery. A nonexistent, frighteningly chanting tune rang in her head after the scattered thought had been spawned by her dysfunctional brain. She felt hypnotized as their capture progressed. It was the type of hypnosis only a Master of Magic would have managed to induce. Maybe this outrageous idea arose from the fact that she was fascinated with arcane knowledge and it was a meek attempt at defending her failing mentality. Truly, it was a stupid illusionary thesis – magicians amongst Frost Giants – that was laughable. The girl-woman was simply trying to explain herself, find reasons as to why she could not register her surroundings or the time as it passed, and why she could not move a limb. Her mind had fractured like light traversing through an intricately cut gem: a part of her only knew fear, it was too scared to comprehend and evaluate anything above that; the rest of her was simply absent – that was probably the part that was responsible for all of her missing senses.

* * *

Hours, perhaps minutes, had passed and Sigyn was not out of her stupor yet. The place she found herself in should have placated her – only if by a tiny bit. Alas she simply failed to do much more than cower in fear. Still her conscious had not returned, only her subconscious remained to keep her from entering a comatose state – it was keeping her alive.

They weren’t bound and they weren’t in pain (except for those who had been wounded prior in battle or while struggling against their captors). It was cold – yes, but there was no wind. They were inside, indeed they were inside. No shackles – no; no chains – no. It was bright – not really, still she could see and well enough at that, so no darkness – they weren’t underground. Stairs? Had there been stairs – yes, there had been stairs. They were above – yes. How high – she did not know, it was too difficult of a question for the voice inside her head to inquire. Monsters? N-no, there were no humongous blue-skinned creatures in sight, none of those terrifying red eyes that seemed to glow with evil malice. She couldn’t _feel_ anyone aside from her friends. _Feel?_ – a silly thought. Still, no matter how many times the healer with severely frayed nerves checked and double-checked – there were no Ice Jotunns in the vicinity. There was commotion, shouting. Thor? Probably correct, it was most possibly the Prince that was so loud. The shaking girl continued gathering the fragments of her shattered mind.         

When the young woman finally came to herself it was her sense of duty that had roused her from her state of metaphorical slumber. It was the reason of her existence – the healing of the fallen that pulled her out of the void she had fled into. An untellable amount of time had passed. Everything was silent, whatever rage and anger everyone had felt was now replaced with soundless despair.

It took her several minutes to fully grasp the situation. She had expected to find herself in a dungeon or a cell of some sort, however the place where she was did not inspire a faux feeling of safety either. All of the warriors she had left Asgard with – were still there, still in the same room. They were within the palace she realized, somewhere not meant for the purpose of housing captives. Being used to Gladsheim and its vast halls, this chamber appeared to be relatively small.

The doors and windows were the size corresponding to the inhabitants of this world – and she understood that despite the existence of exists, they were probably barred in some way that none could pass through. What was odd was the furniture – it was all significantly too small to be used by Giants, the girl found it strange but did not think more of it. The room was not made of ice or something of the sort. A moment later she came to the revelation that she was thinking thus because at some point before, when being brought here, a great deal of the interior was fashioned of ice, fleeting though the memory was.

The furniture was of various materials – an array of woods and metals, all crafted intricately. Part of it was broken and in pieces, the damage and debris seemed to be very recent and Sigyn guessed that it had been the work of the Heir. She had anticipated cold, but while it wasn’t exactly warm, the temperature was nowhere near to being unbearable. The female that was quickly assessing her surroundings managed to locate the source of heat with ease – it was a large, stone fireplace. She had believed herself to be fully capable of thought, alas she wasn’t her full self and therefore failed to find this to be an oddity in the dwelling of Frost Jotunns. The flame had been most certainly not lit by the Aesir, the fire steadily roaring within the hearth was of an unnatural, green color. That was the extent of what her jumpy mind could process and take in, there were more pressing matters at hand. This strange prison they were cast into did not resemble a prison at all.     

An instant later the healer was by Fandral’s side, Hogun was standing in watch of his wounded brother-in-arms. She quickly gathered what manner of action had to be taken. By the merciful will of the Norns, her satchel had not been taken, it was probably checked but not removed – as the weapons of the others had been. From it she removed several blankets and fashioned a makeshift cot near the fireplace. Although the chill air was not hazardous, the cold floor (even if carpeted in some places) would not do the wounded man any good. The girl managed to firmly issue several orders and soon the always flirting male was situated atop the blankets.

She didn’t think much about anything and set to inspecting the injuries he had sustained, her mind did not point out the fact that her furious sense of duty and wish to help could as well be meaningless – when their future was not clear. A look at the previously gaping hole was enough to tell that her initial work on the battlefield wasn’t shabby. The warrior was in a stable condition and that was a mercy all on its own because if she had done nothing prior, then after the time she spent unable to properly function – would have had the man near dying. He was still in no small amount of pain, but being who he was – he wasn’t keen on vividly showing his plight. It was good that she had gathered her wits when she did, for half-a-day or a day later he would have been well on his way to passing. So while Fandral was in no immediate danger, his life was not secured yet.

The Vanir took to working instantly and tuned out most of the things that transpired about her. The conversation was born and died at random intervals. It consisted of enraged words, plans of escape and guesses to their reason of being locked away here. The Thunder God would take to calling his weapon, however each time his attempts were met with failure.

When threatening, pitch-black darkness began to overtake the vista from beyond the windows (which she had by the time figured out were also blocked and were indeed very high, so without Thor’s ability of flight gifted by the Heavenly Hammer – it was not possible to leave through them) she began to fret that light would be taken away. The hearth still burned but the kindle did not lessen visibly, therefore there was no way to tell when it could possibly go out. The Asgardians were frightened as the torches that aligned the walls burst into emerald blazes. It took the healer longest to calm her galloping heart, which was frightened like a young and untrained steed by the unexpected roar of flames.

She treated the one wounded worst for the longest of times and when he was quite safe and well away from danger, she moved onto aiding the gutsy warrior. His wrist injury, the burn received from the frost of the icy creatures, was quite severe. Volstagg’s arm was saved from any permanent damage, however she could not waste strength to remove the angry red mark at the moment. Then came the healing of the ones who had suffered from the capture itself. Light that seemed to be forever lost was beginning to seep through the windows anew.

Tiredly Sigyn returned to Fandral and continued ‘fixing’ him. Lady Sif offered her to take a break, she shook her head in response. She had not realized that she had worked throughout the night – which was soon coming to pass. It was all irrelevant though, resting was not an option because her abilities were needed.

Reprieve came only when the man, who had been hurt most perilously, had been completely rid of any traces of internal damage. The young woman was depleted of her energy and could not continue. But she could not afford worry over the tender and fragile knitting of his flesh, which without further interference would scar terribly and was still under threat of tearing. She thought to herself that she would take care of that once some of her strength would be regained. The girl-woman did grasp however that it was a foolish thought – fretting about marred skin – when they may never witness the glory of Asgard again.

Her main patient had been conscious the whole time and for a great deal of hours he had been quite coherent, although he refrained from uttering a word in the talks that transpired about them. When she was finished, the saber wielding male offered her a smile, a thanks and a very watered-down flirt. The half-blood’s response was a tired grin. She settled beside him on the floor. Her back to the wall, she was protected by a piece of furniture of some sort (used for storage she reckoned) from one side and by Fandral’s cot from the other. The crouching girl had not moved from her place there. No one had dared to fall into well-needed slumber, the danger was too great.

Morning was swift on its wings, obvious by the cloud-muted rays entering the chamber through the glassless windows. Although the torches did not put themselves out and remained lit. By the dawn light Sigyn was finally brought to awareness to just what wards had trapped them in this room. A shimmering, semitransparent barrier of green encompassed one of the walls. This phenomenon was nothing if not magic, and the power that it was forged from held a slight herbal scent, which she failed to discern. Even if she knew very little of sorcery in the grand scale, there was no doubt in her mind that this was the work of a Master Sorcerer.

All of the Asgardians, even the one lying, were watching the glinting and fluctuating wall of energy with great unease. The warriors, even without their weapons, were ready for action, waiting to greet whatever that was going to happen. Beyond the green barrier were Giant-sized double doors. Everyone wondered whether something was going to pass through them.  

The luminescent wall began breaking itself, not shattering, no, it was not about to fall apart. It shifted into geometrical shapes and resembled a cut gemstone, it caught light the same way as well, which fractured and bounced in the chamber. It was not a soundless occurrence, there were loud, shrill screeches of something warping, breaking, reshaping itself – like glass or something metallic, the sound was difficult to place. As the barrier shifted it began moving away from the door, creeping closer to the occupants of the room.

The Asynjur gasped in pure terror – if it moved any closer, it would crush them. She whimpered at what an end that promised. However her fright was for naught because the spell stopped only after taking over a third (maybe less) of the space. It shimmered down but all could tell by the way it still fluctuated in places – when the light hit it right – that it had not disappeared.

Slowly the grand doors were opened. Breaths were held, fury was being reined-in for the moment (none could reach the being or beings that would step forth). A small Jotunn, the owner of that disembodied voice from before, the royal one, marched into the room with confidence radiating. But that was all the healer saw because her Prince’s form blocked her line of sight.

The Storm God was aware of the barrier between him and his enemy, so he did not attack him outright. Oh how he wanted to break that smirking little prick and wipe that satisfied expression off his face! The Aesir’s fisted hand flew to the side of the invisible-yet-there wall. The impact forced the warding spell to let out a glassy/metallic sound and it crackled in static, glimmering in small green aftershocks. Thor demanded that Mjölnir be returned to him.

The Frost Giant looked at him for a moment and took his time in replying. His tone was unperturbed, heavily laced with sarcasm.

“My, what demanding guests I have”

While the cowering woman could not see the blue-skinned man, she could hear him perfectly. His voice inspired undiluted fear inside her. The calmness within it only bespoke of all kinds of horror he could make into reality with the cruelest of apathy.

The God of Thunder roared.

“When my father--”

The Ice Jotunn harshly interrupted the violent outburst. His words lost their playfulness, they were cold and harsh – threatening.

“Your father? Where is he? I do not see Odin or his armies rushing to your rescue. Does he even know of this, Odinson? No, of course he does not know. The God of Wisdom would not have allowed such a foolish breach of contract to occur. Perhaps your father does not find you worthy enough to risk war for?” the last sentence had lost its venom and was spoken with a cool air and malevolent glee beneath.

The little Lady whimpered at their captor’s hiss. That wasn’t true, she had given news to reach the Allfather about this mission, which had slipped past without his approval. But, where were they? Surely, the King would forgive his child, r-right? He had to know of this by know, Heimdall had to have told him that they had lost and been taken as prisoners. What was taking them so long?

The Throne Heir of Asgard bristled at the bastard’s audacity. How dare he speak to him in such a manner?! The Golden Prince continued with his demands.

“Release us! It was you, who had threatened Asgard with war!”

The red-eyed male was unfazed, he continued without a hint of displeasure.

“I have already told you, _Asgardian_ , war is not declared by a band of rouges – they cannot speak for _my_ Realm” anger slithered into the words of the one who called Jotunheim his own. “You have no right to demand anything of me, Thunderer.”

The Giant crossed his arms over his chest. His tone lost its even in volume rage and was replaced with one of open mockery.

“Shall I remind you, that you are my prisoners and it is by _my_ will that your future will take path” he took a pause and then said as if stricken with remembrance “Ah, I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Loki Laufeyson – King of Jotunheim.”

The Vanir Lady had been right – he was not just any royal, he was the King of the realm! But was it not Laufey-- of course, this was his son, the Heir, the Crown Prince! However this revelation did nothing to ease her, she understood that if Thor would not cease – then there may be no tomorrow for them.

The Jotunn King continued.

“However, I have passed the boundaries of my lenience towards you, Thunderer--”

The God interjected once more and demanded another answer.

“What do you seek to gain, Jotunn!?”

Loki glanced back to the man in front of him with minor irritation dancing in his crimson gaze. Really, the brute had no tact, here he was in grave danger yet continued taunting the very source of said danger. No matter, he thought, some truth could be disclosed to ease his prisoners.

“I seek to see how much your father values your life” he dragged the words out deliciously, a maleficent flame lurking in them. “Whether you live shall depend on Odin’s choice. He has something that belongs to me and we will see if he is willing to part with what he has stolen.”

The royal Aesir was about to begin anew.

“How _dare_ you--!”     

However his billowing shout was stopped by one from the Frost Giant Ruler.

“ _Enough!_ ” the rise in volume was surprising and seemingly uncharacteristic for one who spoke with such calculative calmness, the command was truly that of a King. “I have said all there is to be said on the matter and you _will_ drop it” Laufeyson sighed “In the meantime, you are given reign over the chambers you are in. If they open – they are yours to use. Enjoy my hospitality, _for you have no other choice_ ” he mocked coldly.

The Crown Prince of Realm Eternal roared and banged his clenched fist onto the enchanted barrier. His shouts however fell upon deaf ears because the Ruler of the Realm of Frost had turned around and left without glancing back.

The emerald wall retracted and situated itself over the closed doors. It seemed that they were safe, for the moment...       


	8. A library rat and the piper

**Chapter eight**

**_A library rat and the piper_ **

 

 

The Asgardians had spent three days in captivity. The King of Jotunheim had not appeared again. True to his words there were chambers that they could access and there were doors that were warded by that same green barrier.

The prisoners had tried to shatter the fluctuating, magical wall, alas the more they tried – the more violent it became. The warriors had reckoned that perhaps frequent prodding and force could undo it, but all the attempts had yielded were more wounds for their healer to fix. Sigyn had been asked to try her magic at it, however she had refused, truthfully admitting that she knew nothing about breaking such wards (and while she didn’t say it, she could feel that the barrier was cast by a very powerful sorcerer and it was not something anyone lesser than one could uncast).         

The rooms they had been allowed use consisted of antechambers/living areas that were similar to the one they had initially found themselves in, bathing quarters, and many hallways that led to them. The most peculiar room, more like a great hall, that they could enter was... a library.

The structure of the palace was nothing like that of Gladsheim, which was indeed huge and confusing – however it paled in comparison to the complexity of this dome. The female Vanir thought that this place was truly labyrinthine and she dreaded the very idea of ever walking in it alone. In fear of somehow being separated (or worse) – none had ventured anywhere on their own (except for the washrooms).

The Asgardians had abandoned their initial ‘prison cell’ and chose another that was closer to the largest bath chambers (however the room they took refuge in was deeper within the fortress, it had no windows or outer walls, alas the aforementioned were protected in the same way – they could not serve as an escape-point).

When they had checked the rooms once more they had found that the ruined furniture had not been replaced but rather fixed (not in the usual sense of the word, rather they were rebuilt by magic), this unsettled all of them. If the Jotunns or _something_ else still had full access to their ‘prison’ and they were none the wiser to those visits – that thought was more than upsetting.

They had no weapons, but if somehow they could avoid being severely injured by that icy skin, perhaps they could take one of the Giants as hostage and possibly escape this dreadful place. However despite the fact that most of their more strategically safe rooms were constantly checked (always by a group, never was the task given to a single individual), they had never spotted anyone nor were there any signs of a physical presence. And even if they could manage to capture a Frost Giant – there was no guarantee that they could somehow leave this castle alive, for if the way those beings had treated their fallen comrades back at that unthinkable battle was anything to go by – then it was clear that they valued little (if at all) the wellbeing of their kinsmen.

Thor’s anger and frustration, which was often let out onto innocent furniture – that terrifying habit had been broken, much to the God’s great irritation. The same power that disallowed the captured ones escape engulfed the objects in the chambers as well, if the touch even remotely resembled such that could damage them.

The Aesir Prince constantly tried to call Mjölnir to his side, however no matter how hard he tried – it did not answer its master’s commands. There hadn’t even been any collisions heard of it hitting the walls of energy, which always surrounded their group. Wherever the Heavenly Hammer was, it was secured just as they were.

By the third day every wound and injury acquired by the Aesir had already healed.

Starvation though was apparently not being used against them, in order to weaken or for some other, more horrifying reason. When they weren’t observant enough, meals would appear trice a day in a certain chamber (always the same one and always on the same time). Even as they had figured out the pattern and waited for the food to be brought, only a blink of an eye was enough to miss the moment of its appearance. One second the table was empty, the other – food was already there. It was undoubtedly done by magic. And while everyone sneered at it, calling it ‘cheap tricks’ and any man that used such – unworthy of being given the title of ‘warrior’, the Asynjur’s negative emotion stemmed from a different reason. She feared magic and knew that it could be potent no matter where incorporated, so while maybe it was not noble, a Master Magician greeted on the battlefield was no less a threat than the mightiest of warriors.

The first time a meal had appeared (it had been breakfast) none had dared to touch it. Doubts arose instantly and although it was illogical that there would be any poison in the dishes or beverages, they still could not have risked consuming anything. About an hour later the agreement had been shattered and heated discussions (arguments) had broken through. The young woman had been silently observing it all from the side (as she frequently did), feeling so terrible for the quarrel. She’d been about to open her mouth and say that she had packed some food when Volstagg’s resolute opposing had finally stopped the verbal fighting.         

The gutsy warrior had threatened that if no one wished to deal with his bad moods when he was hungry, then he should be allowed to eat. After a while the others had conceded. They could last without sustenance for days, but with each they would weaken – it was wise to replenish their strengths. Volstagg had eaten and Sigyn had supervised his state closely, there hadn’t been any changes. Nothing that she could detect – no signs of suppressants, sleeping drugs or poison. She had been glad for that because healing someone from strong poisoning required certain equipment, which she did not have and sometimes even the most advanced tools did not help save the poisoned one.

Everyone else had eaten the second or third meal of the same day, except for the Thunder God who had come around on the next day. The healer had found that it was difficult for her to eat, still she had tried her best to keep her energy high, if her services would be needed. It was not the quality of the food but the predicament that had caused the loss of appetite. Only of course the red-haired man had been a different case – he always ate, no matter whether he was sad, happy or angry; for him food was the best medicine for any illness.

The meals were neither inedible nor foul in taste. Mostly the dishes consisted of meat – which was seasoned and cooked well. The herbs used for spicing it were a mystery – given the fact that there was no other greenery served – that had brought the question of where they were grown. However the non-warrior female hadn’t thought on that much, her mind had not been in a state that would allow her to be lost in such minor and trifle things. There was also something that she had identified as bread, although it was nothing like what she had ever tried, it was clear that it was not made form rye or something similar. All of the beverages were warm or even steaming, they clashed with the meat, but overall were pleasant to drink (if one could ignore the sweetness most of the liquids tasted of).

She had made sure that everyone would drink plenty, especially Fandral who had needed to regain his vitality most. The food of Jotunheim (strangely mostly warm, perhaps specifically made so for the Asgardians) was good, it was not the palace-food that they had consumed so frequently back at home, but it was a hundred times better than what the poorest in Asgard could afford.

The only thing that always broke the monotonous silence was nothing that could bring joy. All that there was – were heated discussions, which always escalated into arguments, pointless guessing and just as fruitless plans of escape. It was a mix of soundless despair, hushed plotting and loud fury. And all the girl could do, while the warriors were bickering, was feel bad and stay completely unnoticeable. It was difficult to tune out her friends, therefore she listened or tried to daydream – more often than not unsuccessfully.

By the evening of the third day spent trapped in a luxurious cage – something new had arisen in her (or maybe it had just strengthened to the point where it did not allow further ignoring) – it was boredom. She had absolutely nothing to occupy herself with (conversing was not an option when everyone’s reactions were so violent).

A place however had beckoned her constantly, as if an enchanted tune of a piper called to her. It was the only of all the meandering paths that she remembered so well, despite having walked it just once. The untitled Lady had just caught a glimpse of the library but that had been enough to ensnare her. She had been a bookworm since childhood, she valued knowledge greatly. She was one of the fortunate ones – being of noble birth and having gracious parents (well, a caretaker – her grandfather, more accurately) who had approved her thirst for learning.

It was not frowned upon in Realm Eternal – females who studied. However it was common belief that women should only know the dealings of the spheres meant for them (like housework, cooking, gardening, instrument playing, dancing, embroidery, arts and subjects of the sort), also wifely and womanly duties. Anything outside of that was held by the majority to be the reason of a maiden’s unattractiveness. But the Vanir didn’t care – finding a husband was a whole different universe from her mindset, and that appeared to have been done for her anyway.        

She had brushed off the outrageous idea, although the claws with which it held her had been difficult to shake off. And truly, no one was meant to wander on their own. It was questionable – the true objective of the strange Ruler of Jotunheim, however what he had said did make sense. But he had also specified that their future depended on the Allfather’s choice and it had been clear that the true hostage was the Aesir Prince. So the other Asgardians were _expendable_ and walking the allowed section of the palace on their own could lead to their demise. Thor was the bargaining chip – not the warriors he had brought with him. Therefore Sigyn had not allowed herself to make careless decisions. She didn’t think of herself as important, but she also thought realistically – as a healer, she was well needed. Even if she were to visit the library with someone else, the half-blood female could not have brought herself to ask for something like that. Besides it was unthinkable that anyone of them should risk their lives for a _book_.

* * *

 

The visage of the library was still engraved painfully inside her mind. And the wish of visiting that chamber full of knowledge was undeniably growing stronger. Throughout the fourth day she had unintentionally kept glancing back to the door, which would lead her to the place she desired to visit. _Just for a short while_ – incessant voices within her whispered – _just for a short while_... The young woman kept snuffing out that burning need but it always refused to be smothered completely.

Once evening fell, she could hold herself back no longer. A huge argument over the same things had erupted and as usual no one paid any attention to the one that had never been with them so closely for so long (unless it were the infirmary, but even there she had not spent that much time in the same vicinity). The girl was forgotten, her presence rarely called for any attention and she never blamed them for their lack of interest in her.

It was foolish but in her psyche the plan was already green-lit for action. So enraptured in the heated discussion – no one saw her sneak away.

The moment the door closed – peculiarly soundlessly, she felt differently about her plot. The need to continue was undeniable, but it had already hit her that she had left the safest place in this realm of danger and she had done so willingly. As to not lose her courage she quickly took to walking, no matter the maze likeliness of this place her path was as well-known to her as a friend (however more treacherous in what intentions it hid in the shadows). She tried to walk steadily but swiftly. Her back was hunched from a heavy burden it seemed – it was fear.

The large double doors of the dwelling of knowledge were heavy and she found it difficult to enter. The Vanir left them ajar – leaving her best route of escape unblocked and hoped that she would not have to depart desperately, for there was no guarantee that she would make it out uncaught. She glanced about – the library was as humongous, even more so than that glance prior had told her.

She swallowed thickly. The Leader of the Jotunns had allowed them use of any rooms that opened and so that would include this one as well. However the foreign creature could not help but fret immensely – what if what the King said was only an illusion? What if there were truly places that they were prohibited to enter? It surely didn’t seem logical to her to let prisoners use such a treasury of knowledge, but then again did Frost Giants care about such things? By the way they were depicted in Asgard – as true monsters – that obviously hinted that such would not be interested in the written word. However the very presence of this place within the fortress stated that knowledge was valued, since it was hoarded, and by the looks of it – taken care of so well.

The Asynjur took light and careful steps deeper into the vast chamber and it was truly that. The Bright Home radiated greatness, she couldn’t help but note that the grandness of this place was truly on the same level. No, it was not all gold, adamant, precious gems and stones, and finest of woods – but it was great no less. Perhaps not to the eye of your everyday Asgardian, but to her – the sheer amount of knowledge stored within (and it appeared to not have been unkept) – was something of the greatest value.

There were plenty of libraries in the Golden Palace and every housed an innumerable amount of books, scrolls, tablets and other kinds of knowledge-holders. She had not visited them all, she had no actual access to the Royal Library and not even once had her Queen tasked her with retrieving something from there. She could not compare the two from these utterly opposite domes, however she reckoned that this library could rival the royal one in Gladsheim.

The ceiling of this place was so high that she could barely even begin to estimate its height. The healer who had strayed from her allies could see many levels spiraling, meandering or going upwards in straight lines. Many stairways were also visible – means of getting up there, and beyond the wrought-iron balustrades there was the sight of innumerable shelves on which so many books rested.

She looked down and turned her head from left to right, the room was so deep and large that she could not catch sight of all the walls. Sigyn found that she had used the doors that were beside a corner and so she could view the juncture of two walls, but not see where they met the others. The part of them that she did see – housed another pair of Giant-sized doors, she believed that a chamber of this size definitely had several more entrance-exist points.

There was so much to take in that she had to look around from her spot once more. There were large (so large that a big, big ladder would be required to reach the top shelf) bookcases, which lined the visible walls and stood back-to-back in the middle of the seemingly endless librarium. And she truly could not see how wide these rows of bookshelves were nor how deep they went.

The room without a doubt belonged within a palace, it was _intricate_ or had been even more so at some point. There was no ice as much as she could tell or perhaps parts of the walls, ceilings and floors were not made just out of pale blue marble. But there was glass (or thin ice perhaps?) on the highpoint of the ceiling, the part which formed a rising, sharp-lined spherical shape and was supported by black metal nervures. There was also something that could be identified as granite, woods, and metals that ranged from black to silver tints, also other materials that she did not wish to waste time upon guessing what they were or their origin. She spotted several severely washed-out frescos and big yet delicate sculptures made from that stone/ice(?), which hung above or jutted from out of the walls. There were low hanging chandeliers that housed candles, wall-torches and other intricate metal-work candelabras, all lit with blue tinted flames (just like the hallways).

It would have been even more impressive if there would be no sign of decay – however she could see fixes made here and there. A thin layer of dust reigned over all corners, especially on some of the trickier decorations. But it did not cover everything – meaning that either this place was frequently used or just regularly cleaned. 

There were two very odd things within this humongous librarium. In the distance she noticed a row of some sort of objects, most possibly fashioned out of black metal, they appeared to be huge plates that housed flames. The fire was of a natural color and did not emit smoke. She realized that these pedestals were not there for lighting, there was a plentitude of light sources, however the room was not overly bright. Those things were fireplaces and that was strange. From the rooms she had visited of this palace – nearly all had furnaces or hearths in them. But the inhabitants of the Ice Realm were creatures immune to cold, so why were there sources of heat incorporated in this structure – she could not find any answer to the question. But that may have been the reason why she and the Aesir who had ventured into this world were placed there and not in some freezing dungeons. If truly their purpose was to be exchanged, then it made sense that they would not be cast away there where the negative temperature could harm their unadjusted physiques.

But the strangest thing was the size of the furniture – quite the tight fit for Jotunns. As far as her vision could cover she could see only a big table and several armchairs scattered about it – they were quite near her. The woman thought that perhaps this library (as well as the other chambers) belonged to the current Ruler. The idea was chilling however – to know that they were so close to where the King usually dwelled.

As she cautiously stepped closer to the bookcases and that table – she became aware of the age of these pieces of furniture. She had not seen much of the Leader of the Frost Giants, but from what she saw she thought that he was young – younger than this room and its furnishings. Perhaps his size, which could be compared to that of an Asgardians’, was hereditary. Maybe the royal line of Jotunheim was small in size compared to their brethren. However something contradicted such a theory – in all the depictions of Odin’s defeat of the King Laufey, the latter was described as a _huge_ Giant. But she could not tell which was more true – her groundless guesses or the tales of the Allfather’s fight against the royal Jotunn.

The girl approached close enough to touch the core of her interest – a bookcase, a miniscule section compared to the infinite rows. It was logically chosen though – closest to her exit. The books that it housed were small (for Giants), some appeared new, others were ancient. But by her judgment from afar, the tomes stacked in other bookcases contradicted the initial assumption – there were Giant-sized books as well.

She gazed for a long while at the bookshelf, wanting to touch the books within reach – but daring not. Torturing her bottom lip between teeth she could not help but feel conflicted. Such a transgression could warrant some sort of punishment. What if she truly was not allowed access to these wonders? Alas she could not resist the temptation, she lightly traced the spines of the marvelous containers of written word. Like a library rat she was beckoned by them, to take a nibble of the old parchment. However that was only a metaphor and the female was no pesky rodent, she could not even fathom a thought of harming these treasures, no matter what they told about.

Making up her mind, while fighting off wave after wave of fear, she gingerly took a random dark tome out. It had no title written on the thick leather cover and she had not opened it to inspect what it stored within. The half-blood was about to open it when a sound paused her actions – the heavy doors being opened. She prayed to the Norns that it would be her friends coming to reprimand her and take her back to ‘safety’.

She raised her eyes. Her heart tumbled down to her heels, the book slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. It was not the same door through which she had entered. And it was certainly no Asgardian, it was a Jotunn – _the Ruler himself_.

There was no surprise or malice written on his face as he noticed her there. Precious seconds dragged by like eternities – she felt as if her heart was going to burst from the intensity of its beating. Faster than it seemed she had recovered some of her ability to think. She was making her situation worse – she was in front of royalty and she wasn’t showing any kind of respect. The idea of communicating with those of high birth – Monarchs, always frightened her, even Frigga was difficult for her to face (Thor was an exception, an exception that became that with time). And the fright turned into horrification because this was a royal whom she could not displease – lest her allies come to harm because of it.

Sigyn fell into a curtsy, her hands winding themselves into her skirts.

“Y-Y-Your Majesty” she stammered.

The Vanir did not know what to expect – but a minute of silence was more than unnerving, downright frightening to death. Only after it did she dare to lift her green orbs.

With a tilt of his head he acknowledged her.

“My Lady.”

The words were unthreatening, however the fact did not ease her. She gaped at the male for a moment before regaining her speech once more. Her goal was to correct him, he was giving credit where it was not due and she dared not to mislead him like that. She tried to quell her shivers as she straightened but her back remained slightly hunched.

“I-I am no Lady, my Lord.”

He chuckled and moved away from the doors. His stride was confident, graceful yet regal. He walked in her general direction but stopped beside the table, which was still ways from her. He made no move to approach closer.

“Ah, but if a King calls you such, how can you oppose” it was not a question and even if it were – the shaking Asynjur could find no answer.

His voice petrified her – it was calm and soothing, the purest kind of _danger_. The Monarch was sure of himself and what threat could she pose? Therefore he could talk to her in any way he liked, without showing his motives. And the tone was not cold or as maliciously playful as she had heard it morph into before. The texture of the sound was velveteen and seemed to have the ability to enthrall and ensnare anyone.      

He regarded her with a relaxed gaze as he asked her a question, but all she cared about was how much she wanted to get away from here as _far_ as possible.  

“You are not a warrior, are you, my Lady?”

“I am a h-healer, my Lord.”

She doubted that this information was unknown to him so she was not aware why he asked it. The Frost Giant traced the edge of the table and for a moment he looked as if he remembered something. His seemingly soul-seeing and soul-scorching red gaze returned to regard her.

“Forgive my rudeness. It was impolite of me to skip the proper introduction. I have not asked for your name.”

“I-It is Sigyn Iwaldidottir, your Majesty.”

He stepped aside from the table and the healer watched him as if he was a predator ready to pounce. The Jotunn sweeped into a low bow with arms outstretched as if in presentation. His movements were so fluid that the beauty of them made her sick with terror – because she should not have been noting such things about him and all of his traits threatened to lull her into lowering her guard.

He spoke.

“I am King Loki Laufeyson, welcome to the Winter Palace.”

She could only watch awestruck – the Ruler of the monstrous enemy had not only greeted her as if a noblewoman, he even _bowed_ to her and uttered a welcoming into his fortress! But as easy as it could have seemed to feel something as surprise, it really wasn’t when one was encompassed in fear. Through the haze of it her brain still managed to scream that something was wrong, very wrong. Why would someone so _powerful_ and above her – share pleasantries with something so insignificant? Why would a predator bother conversing with prey? It seemed like a cat playing an intricate game with a mouse. She failed to return some sort of curtsy in reply.

The Jotunn straightened and looked down at where her feet were. She looked down to see what it was, her eyes met the book she had involuntarily dropped. The girl hoped for a reprimand, for vocal anger because thinking about anything other than that was far too terrifying.

In a moment the innocently lying tome on the polished floor was no longer there. She felt _magic_ electrify the air of the room. Instantly her eyes were once more on the male. He had the blue book in his blue-skinned hands. Turning it around gently he flipped the pages delicately. _Too_ delicately – her frightened psyche added, as softly as only someone who valued such could – it scared her even more, forcing her to venture into the dark scenarios within her mind.

“An interesting choice.”

The untitled Lady could not gather herself to tell him that the choice was made at random.

“A book from Alfheim, the Elven uses of herbs growing there.”

It was a mystery that he had uncovered, however not in her current capacities to process in any way above that of simple word comprehension.

The tome he had in his hands levitated for a fraction of a second as he made a graceful crisscrossing gesture and it disappeared. It reappeared on the table, on the end closest to her. She made no move to retrieve it. Her line of sight acknowledged only the book, an indirect culprit of her current situation (and yet she could not bring herself to hate the inanimate object). Sigyn was aware of burning eyes watching her, studying her, weighing something from within her. She dared not meet them. When the lulling tone graced reality once more, she fought against the urge to dismiss the owner of the voice as inexistent by not looking up again.

“Feel free to take it” after a while he added a different choice “Or you can return to read it here, whichever you prefer.”

The King turned away from her but she didn’t sigh in relief. As long as he was in the vicinity – fear followed him like a shadow and she fell prey to that stifling emotion. He extended his bare arm and within his grasp, a moment and a ripple of green later, he held another book. She did not understand the reason behind what he did. Too soon those unnerving reds returned to observe her, he was once more regarding her with his posture turned straight to her direction.

“I bid you a pleasant night, Lady _Sigyn_ ” her name sounded foreign coming from his lips, sinister in some way.

The Ruler did not wait for her to react (to his dismissal?) as he strode back the way he initially came from. His pace was slow and languid and she had finally understood why he was in the library in the first place – he had come to collect a book. The frightening man was _leaving_ , she nearly sagged as each of his steps took that ‘shadow’ away from her.

The young woman caught herself, not too late – the chamber was truly big and he was in no hurry to depart. There had been too much disrespect from her end and while he had not appeared to be insulted by it – she could not risk changing that by accident.

“To you as well, my Lord” the words were silent but they echoed loud enough for him to hear.

The small (very tall compared to her) Giant stopped and effortlessly shifted his position, she saw his profile as he told her.

“Goodnight.”

The royal creature of ice was too close to the doors for her to manage answering that. They closed and she did double over as her breathing intensified into quick gasps, as if compensating for her forced attempt at appearing ‘normal’. The healer willed herself to cease the panicked breathing, she still wasn’t safe, not as long as she stayed here alone.

She could not find the time to contemplate returning the book back to its rightful place (she vividly remembered where she had taken it from, libraries and books were not strangers to her – so memorizing that was already a habit). Even sparing a look the darkly bound thing’s way was too much. She tried to dash out of the room as unhurriedly and evenly as possible.

* * *

 

Loki headed back to his quarters. He had chosen to leave earlier than he would have liked, but it was clear to him that the woman – _Sigyn_ – was too startled for him to linger any longer. It was no bother – for it would not be the last of their encounters. He had plenty of time to get acquainted with her better.

He had known that sooner or later she would have gotten separated from the other Asgardians, whether with his indirect orchestrating or not. It was however slightly surprising that it took no effort from his side to make that occur.

The Master of Spell-craft was rarely wrong, even in his vaguest instinctual feelings, so his estimation that this Aesir was intriguing – was not wrong. She had ventured – alone, into the vast librarium (the largest of his Dome) and it only roused his interest. It was obvious that knowledge meant much to her, if she dared to face such potential dangers to seek it out. It was the first thing about her that he found he could relate to.

The royal Jotunn never did allow something important to go unobserved, especially when it was crucial to his schemes. But when it concerned less logically important or wholly unimportant things that intrigued him – he still watched over the beholders of his interest with undivided attention. And the Asgardian female – the healer – was his interest. And so when she left the group, with which she had entered his world – he instantly took to reaching her.

No matter how shapeless and illogical sometimes his nature proved to be – he did not fight against any ethereal sensations that arose in him. And that peculiar little Lady had inspired such within him. From the moment he had laid his eyes upon her – _he knew that she would be his_. Questioning such _knowledge_ was unnecessary, for the vague thought was laced with icy certainty. If he found something he wanted – he took it. Why bother rationalizing over his wants, if gaining what he wanted brought satisfaction?

He glanced down to the book he had in his grasp. The item had not been his goal, it was different. This tome was simply taken to deceive his true _goal_ concerning his objective of entering the library. There was no need to frighten the already scared creature further, no, he was not foolish enough to do so. Inspiring fear was only gratifying there – where doing so was useful.

The royal one hadn’t cared what he had selected – that was unimportant. Now though he was interested in what the random choice turned out to be. The book was about names and their meanings, histories of their holders and fate connected with them. It was from his heim-land, a gift to someone that had had his physical size in life; now though – this book belonged to him and him alone. This script containing various Jotunn names would not have any of the ones common in Asgard or any other realm. Still he found it a splendid coincidence when he had finally found out the Goddess’s name directly. And it did not matter that this book could not tell him the meaning of it, he had a firm grasp on the cultures of the Nine (some better than others), therefore he already knew what the name Sigyn represented.

Loki strode away feeling mildly content for the moment.

* * *

 

When the missing girl returned, she realized that no one had noticed her absence. They were still so focused on their debates and plans that her unthreatening presence slipped past their defenses inconspicuously.

As she retreated back to her usual corner – several eyes rose to inspect the movement. The Vanir serving as an Asynjur back in Realm Eternal was bracing herself for the reprimands that would be slung her way, however her friends did not find her moving about even slightly suspicious, and without further ado their gazes returned to the speaking (or shouting) warriors.

A few hours later they retired for the night. As usual two Asgardians (this time Volstagg and Hogun) were going the first watch over the ones that slept. However the half-blood could not find blessed slumber, so instead she went over the occurrences of the evening.

She realized that through her encounter with the King and sometime afterwards she had been in a state of shock. It was fortunate that while in that state she had still managed to talk and function somewhat sufficiently (because fainting before the imposing Frost Giant was a possibility, which luckily had not occurred). Only when she was safely back in the room, where all of the Aesir were – did her full capacity to think had gradually returned. She knew that she was usually more observant than she had been while in the library with _him_ , however he was the reason behind her lack of proper mind-functions.

The young woman found that she was dispirited by everyone’s lack of interest in her. It was not that she was upset about it personally. No, she was glad that she had never been in her whole life the center of attention – and being mostly invisible was more than acceptable. So the fact that her presence was unnoticeable did not bother her. But a fraction of her (perhaps a result of being tutored by her mentor – Lady Eir) was unsettled by their ignorance in this situation. She was a healer, and while not caring for her as a person was quite alright, not caring to notice her here was not alright. It was foolish of them to leave someone who was valuable (because of her duty) out of their range of senses.

Sigyn had thought about admitting that she had left, but they had been so busy with the arguing – that she hadn’t interjected. She was aware of what their reactions would have been (negative on all accounts), but she felt as though by keeping quiet she was betraying them and she was ready to face the consequences of her poor decision making. However when she had gotten the chance to confess – she hadn’t. Because by that time she had already grasped the picture more fully and had realized that if she would have told the Asgardians – it would only make matters worse. Reprimands, lectures and shouting she could handle that (she was deserving of it anyway) – but that was not why she had stopped herself from telling anything.

If the female would have truthfully spilled her guts with all of the details, then she was sure that at least Prince Thor would see it as a _chance_. They had neither heard nor caught sight of any Ice Giants since their imprisonment, but now they would be aware that the King of Jotunheim still roamed the places they had accesses to. They would definitely bring back the plan of catching and using a Jotunn (this time the Ruler himself) as hostage in order to get out of this accursed palace and these forsaken lands. The reasoning would be that surely the Jotunns would not dare attack them – if it meant that harm could befall their Leader. But this plan was more danger than gain. It was not because of misplaced morals that she thought a hostage scenario to be wrong – her reasoning was not because the King had not harmed them directly ( _yet_ – her mind offered) and that he had placed them in more than simply habitable conditions. No, she could not risk a foolish assault on the man because he was _powerful_. Not because he could (most possibly) rival an Aesir by strength and not because he had armies under his command. It was his display in the library – the small use of spells that had jarred her in alarm.

What he did was in no way exceedingly impressive (although she was always easily amazed by magic but she could still retain her ability of evaluating without bias), however it reminded her of a _feeling_ she had experienced when she had seen him those three times. The healer was used to brushing off feelings because while in Vanaheim the sixth sense was as valid as any other – her upbringing in Asgard conflicted that. Alas she was certain now that the pure power she felt emanating from the Ruler was no illusion drawn by her fears, no, it was actually a true power he had over magic. And judging by the energy cage that they were currently trapped within, the walls that even Mjölnir could not be called through, much less shatter – going against the Sorcerer King with bare hands would only lead to their untimely demise. True, the green barrier could have been cast by someone else, perhaps a wizard or a shaman of some sort. But still, going against someone that could rank as a Master Magician would place a huge strain on their lives. And despite the fact that it was possible that those enchanted walls were not created by that male, somehow she still felt that he was immensely _powerful_ and _dangerous_. Her friends could not be allowed to know any of this, for their own sake...

That was the extent of what the girl-woman managed to extract from her overstressed psyche. No further observations could she press out of herself, which unsettled her. She could remember the library’s interior vividly and could describe it in stunning accuracy – but she was not able to say more about the royal Frost Giant she had met. The Vanir female cursed herself for her scattered-braininess.

That night’s sleep continued to evade her. And when slumber had finally deemed it time to spread its gracious wings above her – it was short, sporadic and restless.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nervure – the way I've used this word (in my knowledge) is actually incorrect in English. I've used the French meaning of it, which in that language (as well as in some others) is a term in architecture. A nervure is an intricate pattern used within buildings on ceilings. While the purpose of them seems to be decorative – those vines actually serve as support. They are frequently seen in Gothic architecture. In the previous Medieval architectural style – Romanesque, the buildings had a plentitude of arcs, a general roundness (tops of windows and doors, ceilings etc.). However the structures themselves were very heavy and the architectural choices did not help the structural integrity; often needing reconstruction. Therefore the next influence in architecture (the Gothic period) was similar to Romanesque, but it had sharper, more triangular lines in their ovals; nervures were also used to strengthen ceilings.


	9. Transgressions of faith

**Chapter nine**

**_Transgressions of faith_ **

The following days were tense (as they had been), but to Sigyn they felt _tenser_. She felt as though at any moment she would be caught lying (although technically she wasn’t lying since they hadn’t asked and weren’t aware of her little detour, still she felt wretched about betraying them with her silence). The healer was not one to deceive and she had never done so, she always opted for the truth and anything but it was incomprehensible for her. However as long as they were all kept alive and would see the grand towers of Asgard again – it was worth it. She was reminded of the saying she disliked – that the end justified the means. The Vanir girl found it to be a despicable thing to live by and yet realized that it was exactly what she was doing now.

Her companions – the ones she had ventured into Jotunheim and been trapped with since – were none the wiser to her secret (the secret that she more than disliked, she loathed keeping them unaware of what had transpired in the library). Their actions were the same as they had been prior, as though they were caught in a vicious circle. The repetitiveness was now predictable. No, it was not that it was like that of a broken toy, which was forever frozen in the same motion, unable to do anything else but repeat. However the melody was very similar and it was hash in its bipolarity. The Aesir were either encased in obvious despair – comprehending that they had to sleep and eat and exist, or they were back to their warrior ways – planning and plotting an escape. And the fruits of the latter were much the same, whether those plans were elaborate or ridiculous. A part of her found them to be unnecessary struggles because of their futility, but her self, her truer self (the optimist) thought it to be quite necessary – they needed to return home and she did not care how the Asgardians would make that happen.    

She felt alienated. Not as a person though, they did notice her and made inquiries and similar things. No, she felt alienated from them because she did not share their tumultuous and seemingly communal (although it varied in the individuals) moods. The female did not lapse into the same drowning emotions: neither the dark and negative ones, nor the positive and eager ones. Her state throughout this whole ordeal was quite consistent. Fear always lingered in the back of her mind, but as long as she refrained from contemplating gruesome possibilities (or entered situations that rung the loudest of alarm bells) – it stayed there, simply ghosting about. She did not know and did not ponder why, but when no sharp negativity clouded her consciousness, then the woman simply made do, she just lived and managed it without any tempestuous reactions. It was what she did her whole life (and it wasn’t something that she had acquired from her servitude as a healer or as the Queen’s handmaiden – an Asynjur), she simply dealt with anything fate threw her way (whatever the Norns wished to bless her with) and did not fight the current.

What happened in the pale-blueish marbled, black-metal metal-esque and icy librarium had not purged her fear. Coming face to face with one’s fear was considered to keep the horror away (or at least at bay), in this case it had done no such thing to the half-blood female. Seeing the source of her terror act differently from what she had imagined – had not made her assumptions false, it did not draw a certain sense of safety. Because her expectations were thwarted – was only reason to be unnerved more because all of the predictability was removed from the possible outcomes of the equation. It just made the whole situation more dangerous because the core of the (rational) fear would prove itself worthy of the fright at some point, even if now it was waiting in lieu.

Somewhere deep down Sigyn thought that the Jotunn King was playing a game, pretending and toying with the fate of her friends as well as her own. The question her subconscious added was – when would the frightening (soothingly spoken, sinisterly minded) man tire of the play-pretend, what would happen then? But internal inquiries of that kind were specifically locked away in the region of her subconscious (the back-closet) and not her conscious (the forefront) because they instantly made fear and dread wash her in waves of a high-tide. It was better to leave them be un-pondered, un-thought, un-contemplated, untouched; for now she needed to force-function until this nightmare was over.         

* * *

 

The days counted the seventh since the Asgardians were trapped in their elaborate cage. Boredom had filtered back into the healer’s brain. Despite the frightening encounter, the memory of the library still danced in her mind, with unnerving frequency.

She had sworn herself up and down, through and through, that she would not venture out again and cause unspeakable damage in some kind of accidental manner. The woman had earned herself a reputation, even the title of someone who never went against her word, who never broke an oath (and how could she, when oath-breaking was considered the worst of crimes to be repenting for in the afterlife?). But she did not know that all those names and her loyalty were gained by trick. It was an unconscious thing, but she never uttered a promise that she could not keep, so in reality she rarely promised anything. Perhaps that was the reason why promises made to herself were so difficult to keep, it was not as though she was betraying someone else.

She did not notice the exact moment when forming pretenses to not go to the librarium had turned into pretenses to go there. For a moment the female felt abashed that she was actually thinking of explanations to her friends – if she were to be caught leaving their current room of stay. She could not lie, so it was a horrifying revelation that was soon obliterated in order to not feel disgusted with herself.

Unconsciously chosen, the corner in which she often rested – was not in line of view of the Aesir, however she could see most of them from it. The day had begun with the low-tide of their now usual repertoire, but almost instantly a heated discussion (this time not an argument) had erupted. By the pattern of their behavior she knew that soon they would reach their high-tide in conversation. And in a moment of weakness, against herself, the girl stood and silently slipped from the chamber.

Whilst walking to the place she yearned to witness once more – she tried to rationalize her behavior. It was midday and she thought that truly, a Ruler of a realm could not be found there at this hour. She knew little of what King’s did (and she could hardly draw a conclusion from her scarce knowledge of the Allfather – that the Frost Giant King would be similar in that aspect) but the Vanir thought that his position was not lenient enough to allow him reprieve of duty during the day. Therefore greeting him again was highly unlikely.

She had banished the idea of seeing any other Jotunn there (for it was just too frightening to think about in reality) because she had summarized that it was a royal library – and so like the one in the Bright Home, not accessible to everyone. Alas there was always the chance of seeing a servant. But perhaps the Frost Giant Leader had believed it necessary to disallow anyone to risk direct contact with the prisoners? For the safety of either them or his subjects (and it really did not matter which, as long as her assumption was correct). Besides, did she not have the permission of the Monarch himself to visit that place of knowledge? With these thoughts taking reign over her psyche she opted to go further rather than turn back.

By the doors of that memorable room she experienced a bout of anxiety, feeling foolish for doing this again. The young woman tried to steady herself as she peered inside – still not daring to enter. From what she could see beyond the crack of those heavy, huge doors – the library was empty. After several minutes of stalling, feeling great unease, she entered.

The doors remained partially open – never close your means of escape – her mind advised, she stopped to simply gaze about once more. As usual fright intensified, the fact that she could never be sure that in this large chamber she was truly alone – was not helping either. But as much as her limited sight allowed and hearing strained to the ends of its register’s capacity – she could detect no one else present.

Despite her common sense she spent few precious moments simply taking in the grand librarium and it left (as last time) an immense impression on her. Her fretting spring-green eyes drew to a halt by _that_ table. A dark blue book, the same one, still rested where the royal male had left it. Carefully she approached it. The wish to take the object into her hands was great. However for a long while she could not force herself to act on it, as if fearing it to be some sort of trap, as if touching the tome would activate some sort of potent spell.

Alas all of her reservations were for naught because the written word was so captivating, so tempting that she could not stop herself. The leather binding was smooth, smoother than it should have been – but then again, it was a book from Alfheim. Forgetting absolutely everything but the book Sigyn sat down into the armchair, which was just beside the table, as if anticipating an immersed reader to use it.

A fragment of cracking apprehension remained but it was not enough to let her realize the passage of time. More than an hour had gone by – unnoticed – as she pored over the piece of literature, which she found to be quite elusive. Her luck had it that it was not a writing depicted in the ancient Light Elven tongue but in the new language, which was fairly easy to understand. However the runes were a different matter altogether, handwritten in an elaborate cursive and as beautiful as it was – it wasn’t easier to decipher. If her encounter with literature from Alfheim would have been purely from her professional experiences and without her own thirst for knowledge, then reading this midnight-bound book would have been extremely frustrating. Still there were plenty of obstacles in the healer’s way when it came to understanding it without proper studying and pondering. The Light Elves, and well as much as she knew all Elves in general, were prone to a very interesting (and foreign to her) manner of writing. The tome she read was very poetic, reminding more a prose book than an educational one. Although all of this merely made it all the more interesting, she couldn’t tear her glimmering orbs away.

Thoughts of nicking the book and retreading, or abandoning it altogether – had left her conscious. There was a keeper of written word in front of her and she had not finished reading it. The peculiar texts and intricate illustrations stole her away completely, denying her the existence of reality. But the girl-woman knew that this sort of reprieve never lasted forever.

A sound shattered her trance. She had not registered the opening of doors – only them closing. And there was a sense of déjà vu in her. She prayed that it would be an Asgardian that entered the library. As she raised her eyes towards the source of the clicking handle she was met with a familiar face. It was no Aesir, the sanguine gaze of the _Jotunn King_ greeted her.

Her heart was nowhere to be found, as it had fallen to her heels, but her brain still functioned and she was rising to greet the Monarch. She could only hope that proper etiquette would be her savior.

The man acknowledged her.

“Good day, Lady Sigyn.”

“Y-Your Majesty.”

Her greeting was cut short with a graceful raise of his hand and she plopped back into her chair with the soft command.

His stride appeared to be slow and fluid with confidence, alas far too quickly for her liking he stood at the other end of the table.

“How is the book?” the Giant inquired as if this sort of conversation was nothing but natural.

She was compelled to reply.

“It is w-wonderful, my Lord” and the answer was honest.

The Ruler nodded slightly as though he had already known what she would say. The faultily-called Lady could not tear her startled eyes away from him. She was lost and waiting, waiting for him to say something, _anything_ , praying that he would bid her to leave. Alas he said nothing and he no longer observed her, his red orbs languidly tracing the library with a loving(?) gaze.

In these few longer-than-life moments, her mind was somehow more coherent and this time she saw him more clearly. By all means as a healer she frequently saw her patients undressed (although they were rarely fully nude when she stood close to them) and that never fazed her. However she had never been in such a seemingly _intimate_ situation with a man that wore so little. She felt embarrassed for this, although it was obvious that the Ice Jotunn paid no mind to his garb. And why would he, in the battlefield she had seen plenty of Frost Giants and they were all bare-chested. It was clear that this was completely appropriate for them and in the heat of battle she hadn’t cared about that. But now, now it was different and being in the same room with someone so underdressed was stressful for her.

The female did not wish to notice so much about him, yet her mind was swift in inlaying into memory every detail. She was seated and he was standing, she felt tiny but that wasn’t because of her position. Often did Asgardians tower over her (even those of average height), however she was sure that he would loom over her even more – he was really tall. The lack of proper clothing revealed the King’s figure, he was very slender, but she could easily make out his defined musculature. It was very strange for her to see a male so lean, it was extremely rare in Realm Eternal – thinness always meant weakness, but the muscles of this Jotunn told of strength.

However despite his lack of bulk, the garment that he wore did not make him look ridiculously feminine. It was different than the glimpses caught of clothes worn by his kind that she remembered. It wasn’t quite a skirt, she didn’t know what to call it; it was long and narrow enough to reveal his legs, the same piece of material in the back was connected by twin strings on the sides. The ‘skirt’ hung low. The fabric both appeared to be light (by the way it swayed as he moved) and heavy due to the elaborate embroidery. The silk-like garment was dyed in dark hues (hints of blue, green and purple) and decorated by meandering patterns inlaid with a silverine-golden (the color seemingly dependent on light) thread. Sigyn would have imagined that it would be something like this that _entertainers_ (courtesans) would wear. And while he was feminine in physique (and wore something she labeled as women’s wear) – she would not have mistook the man for a female.

From what she recalled the inhabitants of this world had their heads either shaven or hair gathered into some metallic ornaments. It was not so in the case of their Leader however. His hair was black and wavy, unbound by ties or other kind of adornments. It was slickened back and on his forehead proudly rested the sole gemstone of the circlet he wore. The crown itself was of silver and the stone within was not one she could identify, dark blues and greens swirled within it and shimmered in a way that reminded her of nebulae or spiral galaxies. The circlet did not remind her of kinship, everything about the Frost Giant reminded her of a Prince rather than a King.

His head was turned, and without having to deal with his unbearably heavy stare for a second, the Vanir was able to get a good momentary look at his features. His profile was strong, defined and sharp. The scarce light from the faraway windows caught him in a way that allowed her to notice the long dark lashes, which framed his unnervingly crimson eyes. That face belonged to royalty (although more the princely than the kingly type) – and she decided that despite the fact that what she would have normally attested to royalty did not include pale blue skin with markings and red eyes. Still, she subconsciously thought that if circumstances were different (and fear not part of the equation), then he would definitely not be a painful sight to look at. 

Eternal seconds lost and a question hung in the air, light it seemed – but to the girl it was heavy (well, the icy creature’s very presence was hard to endure).

“It is magnificent, is it not?”

His gaze was still detached and she instantly knew what he meant. Disagreeing with a man of power (especially one that had so much power over her friends and her) was foolish, however she did not have to lie when answering the seemingly rhetoric question.

As the seated woman replied her eyes also strayed and wandered about the beautiful librarium. It was nothing even remotely similar to Asgard, but it was impressive nonetheless and she could never feel dislike for places that housed knowledge.

“It is...” her voice sounded small but not because of oppressing fear, it held a dreamy quality to it. And for the minute a metaphorical illusion was cast over her, it eradicated any traces of negativity from her person.  

She lost herself in the grandeur of the library, completely unaware of the eyes that were watching her intensely. She studied each detail of the room that she could see, prodding them so they would tell their stories to her. Again her gaze curiously looked at the great plates that held fire, which she had figured were not lights, but their exact reason to be in this chamber, to stand in that neat row – escaped her.

Sigyn returned when that voice of his made itself known. It held a note of amusement to it, he had caught the place where her mind had lingered.

“The pyres?”

A King was inquiring and so she could not keep her thoughts to herself. But his choice of word to describe the fireplaces made an icicle of a shiver travel down her spine. It was entirely too wrong because what dead could be burned there – who would burn their deceased in a _library_?

The ‘pyres’ were also not in this wing for the purpose of preparing meals, so that could not be their purpose either. The food that had sustained her and her Asgardian friends was cooked over fire, but as she had never seen what the Ice Giants ate – she could not assume that they needed their meat roasted. The idea of these blue-skinned creatures consuming raw flesh made her nauseous.

The half-blood female was about to say something but the man did not wait for her answer and set to elaborate. And the curious being that she was – she couldn’t help but listen, the true reason being beyond just fear and the respect she needed to show.

“We do not need heat to survive” he explained but that she had already known. “However we do not have a severe aversion to heat. Some of us like to indulge in the warmth of fire. That is the reason behind these structures, which can be found in many a chamber within the Palace.”

There was a pause and the small duration of time was heavy to the woman, though she was glad that his attention was not focused onto her. She didn’t know what to say and just wanted to be away from this place right now. The Jotunn spoke again.

“This was my mother’s Palace.”

“Your mother’s?” she repeated dumbly but he didn’t seem annoyed by it.

“Yes, this Palace was hers.”

The healer was a curious creature, too curious for her own good. The information he disclosed enthralled her, so without thinking she asked a question, trying to find out more.

“Was this a gift from your father, to her... – the Queen?”

With a strange smile the tall male responded.

“You could say that, but in your understanding of gifts – that would be incorrect.”

Her thin eyebrows were furrowed as she tried to process it, finding herself unable to decipher the meaning behind his words.

“It was not a wedding gift or a morning gift. You see, the Winter Palace was actually the heart of the Realm, housing the largest army. It was not given to her symbolically, if a Ruler possessed it – then he or she also ruled everything within it.”

The Vanir female’s confusion was evident, however she did not ask the King anything. And he appeared to find her reaction amusing, so he graced her with further explanations.

“In my World, the Ruler is not chosen by gender, unlike in yours.”

She was stunned by the revelation.

“Jotunheim is equally divided by two fortresses, one in the North Pole, the other in the South Pole. My father, the former King, offered to forsake his post in this Dome along with its armies and take the Summer Palace with the smaller army there (of course the fortress was grand but less strategically potent compared to this Dome). It was the offer to get my mother to be Queen and it was not one made just for show.”

“Your mother must have been very important, my Lord” her voice was meek but filled with baffled awe.

“I would not say so. Politically, and while marrying her had its benefits, she was no royalty and it was not a union made in order to quell a feud or gain more power. I cannot tell you why he chose to do so, I do not know that. My mother was very powerful indeed but her power was in no way necessary for the Throne” after a pause he continued “This offer had pleased her and so she accepted.”

The girl hardly thought that it was because the offer of marriage was good enough that it had been accepted, for there was no way that any woman could deny someone of such a high status. That was not how the Universe worked. And again she found herself speaking her mind without thinking it through. No matter how unsettling the situation was, the interesting side of it was too blinding for her to plan a way to excuse herself.

“I-It was a gracious offer I am sure, it is impossible for the Queen to have declined.”

The Frost Giant let out an entertained sound.

“If she would have found it unworthy – she would have declined” he shook his head “This is not Asgard, my Lady. A Jotunness is free to make her choices, they do not depend on her father or brothers. In case she had said ‘no’ and if my father would have been displeased by that, then my mother’s clan would have fought against it. Of course a small band as that would have stood no chance against the King’s armies, still it is not in our nature to give up. My mother had been the Leader of that coven and it would have died to protect her wishes.”

It was so different from what she was brought up in; this new information was hard to digest. She now had found out that some realms worked differently than the Golden World.

“But thus had not occurred and so the Winter Palace was given to my mother and she became the Queen to reign over it. Much of it was rebuilt under her care. If you were to understand our politics as those of Realm Eternal, then it would still turn out that the lands were under the King’s command – and such an assumption would be wrong. The two Rulers take their halves of the World and rule them as they please. If there are decisions that require both armies or touch the whole Realm – then both King and Queen have to approve it, the orders from one are without power over the rulings of the other. If a decision cannot be found and a compromise is not made, then the Rulers will wage war one against the other. The winner – the one to overthrow the other Monarch, will then annex the fallen one’s land and gain command over all.”

If anything, the explanation only made it worse. The girl understood what he had said but it was just so alien, so unfathomable – that she could not comprehend it beyond mere words. If she had understood correctly (and she had) then that would mean that the former Queen had had more power than the King. A wife more power than her husband? Absurd! – her mind objected. She did not get it – what could have led the former Ruler, the Jotunn Leader, to take the weaker lot? If all of the subjects of the Winder Palace would fall to the Queen, then she would have control over the most important decisions. Perhaps she was overthinking this, she did – in the end, understand nothing about politics and realm-ruling. Maybe it just sounded in a way that was misleading, it was not like she knew anything solid about this cold race.      

“As much as I would like to continue our conversation, I have matters to attend to. I shall leave you to enjoy your book” the Ruler said, the words seemed deceitfully genuine. “My Lady.”

“Your H-Highness” she said and this time managed to rise from her seat as was required by proper etiquette.

He did not say anything else as he passed the table and her standing form. As he passed her, her instincts screamed danger – but she couldn’t find the power in herself to look behind. She heard the distant bare footfalls as the Giant ventured deeper into the library, presumably to take something from the multitudes of bookshelves. Minutes later she heard the echo of a closing door. As the librarium was huge and she had not inspected it sufficiently – the presence of yet another door was not surprising.

The mixed-blood Asgardian remained in her position, unable to do much else. Again she had fallen prey to her foolish desires and luckily – once more it appeared – managed to garner no severe consequences. The conversation she had shared seemed unrealistic (not just in its content) and she could not decode the reason behind someone of such a high stature wasting his time to acknowledge someone as inconsequential as her. But she had more pressing matters at hand than that of contemplating the strange ‘hows’ and ‘whys’.

As much as the young Lady wanted to continue reading, she realized that she could not (and not just because this meeting had flung her concentration off kilter). She did not know how much time she had spent here, however she was reminded that she needed to return. She felt heavy with guilt – how could she endanger them like this again? And the guilt was only strengthened by the fact that she could not tell the Aesir warriors that she had met someone while she was away, for the sake of their own safety.

Sigyn left the open book in the place she had found it today and turned back to return to the ones she considered to be her friends. She could not let these transgressions of faith continue and with that in mind she left the pale-blueish marbled, black-metal metal-esque and icy librarium.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oath-breaking – was actually considered one of the most heinous crimes in the Nordic countries (that is mentioned in Norse mythology).
> 
> Morning gift – a gift traditionally given in some cultures by the husband to his wife on the morning after the wedding (after the night of the consummation of marriage). It can be anything, like for example – land.


	10. Thinking about Ice and Fire

**Chapter ten**

**_Thinking about Ice and Fire_ **

 

 

The King of Jotunheim walked down into the bowels of his Palace. His pace was steady and languid – his mind was not of same state. His psyche was the very opposite – rigid, eager, brimming so much that it buzzed with thoughts. It was a first and he had to admit that he had never plotted so vigorously before, nor had there ever been quite so many digits in his equation to consider and use to their fullest capacity. Still that did not mean that the Ruler’s previous schemes had not been ornate or as dangerous.

His destination or more accurately the reason and end outcome – were not as trifle in the ploy as it may have seemed. Having great faith in something based purely on theory and marvelous guesswork – it wasn’t something he had not done before. A bargaining chip, which had to be so inconsequential, proved to be very much an ace in his deck – when evaluated by his mind. And his mind was a brilliant thing with a labyrinthine design.

However Loki was confident enough to allow his mental perception to wander from the preset goal. He had found something else that he desired and it was something that he could claim to be an entirely selfish desire (although he neither found that unacceptable nor did he find the lie, for he really presumed this position of power only because of his self-centered greed – to not be the same). The fact that there was another objective, a side-goal, (although it was given an equal amount of attention on the matter of its success, even though it was considerably easier to attain) changed nothing. Not a single detail was altered due to this retraction from the original plot (because truly, it wasn’t enough to alter the master plan), more so because he was a man that never had a problem with multitasking. Only the most treacherous of schemes held the depth of complexity that truly made their realization a work of genuine multitasking – and he was a Master of Scheming. Schemers were Tricksters, and in other worlds – there where he always assumed a different identity (but one of his own nonetheless, for he never opted to copy anything, unless it was for the reason of incrimination or something similar in nature) – the new Leader was believed to be just that. And it did not matter that Tricksters were often what royalty referred to as jesters – entertainers, because such a position offered more insight than anything else. Therefore that the Ice Realm had a Trickster King was more to its gain than it was to its loss.

His secondary goal was something that could be referred to as a trophy, unknowingly given by Realm Eternal itself. Although it was clear that his primary goal was not a trophy, something that already was his (and his subjects’) by right – could never have been called that. No, it was what the Aesir considered it to be. The _thieves_ were not worthy of his praise (and he could assume an impersonal insight and give credit where it was due); to take something so valuable and not use it, just put in a vault to exist purposelessly – that angered the Jotunn.  

The steadily marching male tried to quell his enraged psyche and forced it to dwell on something _exquisite_. How foolish it was of Asgard to allow something so beautiful to enter his Realm, where _she_ should never have been in the first place – but was destined to wound up in anyway. Destiny was not a concept the Jotnar preached, it was something Asgardians, with their Norns and prophecies, believed in. But the crowned young man was not one to refuse the knowledge that sometimes some things were fated to be – and this was that case.

He had never been so enthralled by another being before. He had experienced admiration and respect (sometimes it went with malevolence, sometimes with benevolence), but this, whatever it was – was something else. Loki had instantly noticed something mismatched within the party of the Aesir he had so knowingly _invited_. It was something unique and without a purpose in Asgard’s design, but that was because her meaning lied with Jotunheim, with _him_.

As his trap was shutting – accompanied with corpses of those he didn’t care for, thunder and battle roars – he had been skeptical of the instant awareness he possessed over one of the members of the Asgardian circle that had ventured into his den. It seemed ridiculous, angry-hiss worthy and outright insulting. However he was a sorcerer, therefore he had to have an unorthodox thinking, which he seldom had to stress – so that normalcy would not distort the image of reality. By the fight’s end he had already accepted the seemingly unthinkable and instantly became content (such a short-lasting joy for him, although not this time), in mere moments he had begun sketching the future with a well-defined obsessiveness.

The Frost Giant understood and embraced the fact that he _wanted_ her (her Asgardian heritage aside, for it was impossible to argue the _right_ , the _fated_ ) and he would _have_ her. With superficial Aesir values this would have seemed to be so vile, however he was too refined to be vile and the thinking of his _father’s_ enemies only appeared to be noble. In the worlds of the Ash Tree, where a ghost of Asgard’s expansion lingered – it was believed that Realm Eternal was the highest, safest, brightest world of all. However the Ruler of the ice beings always looked for the specks of darkness within light and he knew that stains were hardest to wash away from something pure and white. Therefore he was keenly aware of what the highest branch of Yggdrasill really was. It was a complexity unheard of in any realms that were inhabited by Giants of any race; Asgard was full of self-poison – the kind that poisoned the Aesir more than it did anyone else. But the origin of the girl was unimportant because he could feel just how untainted by it she was. In case he was wrong, well there would be plenty of chances to validate that feeling.

The nearly grand thoughts on fate and destiny considering the female were not petty refinements of truth. It was not her physical person that attracted him so, it was not for fickle games that he wanted her. No, there was something _needful_ about her. Alas it would have been a lie on Loki’s part to claim that her appearance played no part in his obsessive need to possess her.

It was difficult to accept that the young Lady was created by Asgard, she didn’t quite fit the profile (although with that realm’s expansion there were plenty prisoners and refugees of war, it was possible that her blood was mixed). Aesir were famed for their azure eyes and wheat colored hair, however other color palettes were possible to find in Realm Eternal. But _Sigyn_ (the name slid like honey from his silver tongue, far too sweet and far too soothing – perfect) was such a brilliant gem and he had a keen eye for spotting unpolished jewels, and she was far too unique and rare to ignore.

Her locks, even bound conservatively, were obviously lush and the color was most divine. Not silver – no, not a shiny tint of grey, but a platinum blonde, a color as if gifted by moonlight itself. And her eyes, her eyes did not reflect cloudless heavens but the youngest of spring leaves. Her head, covered with gorgeous strands that were moonlit, was meant for an ornate _crown_. The young woman was delicate – from the small inwardly curved nose, slightly plump pale pink and bow-shaped lips, to her dainty little fingers. The Leader was a keen observer so he had noticed the paleness of her skin, the light eyelashes that fluttered softly when she blinked, the barely noticeable freckles dusting the tops of her cheeks and of course the dimples that were revealed when she was close to smiling. Even with fright overpowering and overshadowing her so, she had been able to forget it all when she marveled at the beauty of his library and nearly smiled. Her expression then had been so pure and serene, and serenity was something that was missing from his life – never present for long. She was short compared to the average Aesir and she would be his delicious, tiny morsel of delight.

Her modest garb (he reckoned it to be healer’s robes) could not hide the beauty she possessed. Jotunn King Loki knew potential when he saw it and she had plenty of that to become a marvel most rare. With the right clothing, something that would not conceal the girl’s petite form but rather display it with pride, and dark, beauty enhancing face-paint – Sigyn would not be able to blend in and would portray the perfection of royalty. He would bestow upon her the most precious of stones – to accentuate the extravagant garb that she would wear (as well as wear when she was _bare_ of it).

What the powerful Ice Giant had in mind would be considered highly inappropriate and sinful in her heim-land, however Asgardians did not understand the greatness and freedom of women. To them – females did not have a purpose beyond that of wives, child-bearers, as well as a source of relief, and housekeepers – therefore they were dressed appropriately for that. Ah, but the women of this World could dress as they liked (they were their own persons) and in a casual setting – their clothing could also be practical. Jotunnesses were not like the females of Realm Eternal, they could serve any purpose and did not fall short behind men. That was exactly the reason why none of his people cared for the gender of their firstborns or the children after that, since a girl could do anything a boy could (the difference in physical strength mattered little when the teachings of parents made sure that no daughter would be susceptible to anything) – even become a Ruler. There was no bother for the continuation of blood – unlike what the Aesir fretted so greatly about, a bloodline did not perish with only female children. And the family name – in Asgard so precious, was meaningless in that sense, for here they were maternal.

The _inner_ fire of Asgard was no threat to Jotunheim and it had never been. The _inner_ flame of his people (and it was called so not because of heat but for the sensations it caused to the weaker flamed ones) was so ardent, so harmful – the reason behind was the incomprehensibly low temperature that their bodies could create at will. Ice was stronger than fire, always triumphing over it. Although that was not a universal truth, and when met with stronger flame – they were not left unscathed.

The distant cousins of the Frost Giants – the Fire Giants, were considerable opponents. However they were just that and not superior to the cold ones. Ice always won over fire, when confronting it ice showed a loss and that loss was water. So even though the aforementioned suffered – it was not lethal because the spill killed the fire in its entirety. Direct contact between freezing Frost Giants and burning Fire Giants caused harm to both, but the ones of ice lost skin in the process, blood was the loss and it did not evaporate from the heat – it stayed the same and wounded the fiery ones as if it were acid.

To the royal Jotunn’s knowledge this inequality in power between these two races was not without cause in occurring. Due to his mother’s teachings (even if that knowledge and theories were only writings or books of hers – he denied the fact and took them in as if she had been there to teach him; she was dear to him despite the fact that he had not known her personally) he knew that the Frost Jotnar were superior because they had evolved. This change came to be because their kin, a long, long time ago, had come to the Realm of Jotunheim when it had just begun forming as a branch of the World Tree. The migration had not only made the shift in their natural power but also allowed them to evolve into beings of greater mental capability, as well as in the areas of creation – the latter had been the reason for the Great Empire of the Ice Realm, which had fallen so prematurely. The origin of Ice Jotnar was the Primordial Realm of Ice – Niflheim. However Fire Jotnar had remained there where they had originated from – the Primordial Realm of Fire – Muspellheim. The relocation was necessary for growth in their beings, although plain survival was well achievable within the lands of Niflheim. The Giants that had remained (the ones of Frost as well) were bound to leave unchanged, no greatness of any kind was achieved by them and the deceased Queen believed that that would never morph, without a change in ground for them – there would be no drastic change in themselves.

The worlds of the primal elements were equal, facing each other by a diagonal astral line, neither stronger than the other. That was where the power between ice and fire did not show a difference, the struggle that stretched along the vast astral line was eternal and never shifted into either’s favor. The greeting of these two incredible forces had a produce, which was harmful to neither, it was mists.

The new King had not seen with his eyes a confrontation between Niflheim’s and Muspellheim’s Jotnar, such occurrences could have only taken place well prior his birth. However he did know that the strength of both created unchangeable balance. Although he could only theorize how exactly that looked like: it could be that a touch would wound both – but neither would be injured worse than the other; or if blood was produced, then it would too cause harm equally because the loss would also be equal – no more hazardous than the other’s.

It did not interest him much – the possibility that somehow the contact between such ancestral creatures could create something – like the Primal Realms created omnipotent hazes. The study of such a questionable theory was quite difficult to realize (but not impossible, not to him anyway), alas even if the product was something of extraordinary value – the trouble to get it would not be compensated because there was the great possibility that it was utterly worthless (if there’d be something out of it at all).

So in the current reality there was no match to Jotunheim’s ice, which could withstand both cold and hot climate better than any other race that inhabited the Nine. Therefore the little healer’s fire (now just a slight ember), even fueled to its greatest capacity both bodily and mentally wise – was no match to Loki’s. However despite his ability to embody temperature so cold (both in physique and in temper), he was also capable of not just withstanding but creating and liking warmth. There would be no quarry between them because of his burning ice, for he could just as well cultivate her shimmering flame and tenderly persuade her into voluntary and happy submission.                   

* * *

 

The Ruler thought about Sigyn until he reached his destination. He plotted his next course of action concerning his secondary goal, for if unattended it might interfere with his primary scheme.

The dungeons of his Dome were just as cold as the ground they rested within. They were ice covered and unwelcoming – but not to the owner of the Winter Palace. The cell he was in wasn’t overly large and had a low ceiling (for Giants). There were a half of a dozen of Jotnar present in the vicinity. The men were his scientists, well if they could have been called that – they were the same manual labor just with a bigger brain and a different purpose.

On one of the many lab tables, ice covered metal pieces of furniture that they were, lied the Heavenly Hammer itself – Mjölnir. When the first call for the weapon came from the Thunderer – they had been unprepared. It had lodged itself into a wall that was covered with the Ruler-Sorcerer’s green energy barrier. Even when the order was over, the Hammer had remained in its place. It hadn’t gone through the enchanted protection but it was dented. The Monarch had to once more use Thrym’s assistance in removing it (it was a blessing that he had not let go of the Frost Giant before that). Now the Odinson’s greatest ‘treasure’ was encased in the very same green-tinted, fluctuating barrier. It allowed the Ice Jotnar that worked in the lowers access to it and kept the object in place.    

The Leader of the Jotnar involved himself in conversation about the recent findings. The ‘scientists’ were not skittish nor did they seem to be humbled by his presence, or worshipping his every step (and that didn’t bother him). They were impersonal and gave information without delay (just as they were supposed to do).

Mjölnir was a stubborn magical item. However it was not a relic and because it was not a leftover of ancestral knowledge – now almost dead, it was not unbeatable.

The progress was very slow, but the most important thing was – was that there was _progress_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muspellheim and Niflheim – are two realms from the Norse mythology, the realm of primordial fire and the realm of primordial ice.


	11. Bathing gone wrong

**Chapter eleven**

**_Bathing gone wrong_ **

 

 

Sigyn had not made any trips to the library after her second encounter with the King (she had to discipline her mind that often called the Ruler as the _Jotunn Prince_ – to cease referring to him in such a way, lest her thoughts would somehow manage to turn into actual words; perhaps it was the Frost Giant’s very visage and the circlet he wore that mislead her psyche into categorizing him faultily).

Venturing again on her own was beyond foolish (not that it wasn’t that the first two times), no matter how appealing the library of the Winter Palace was. It was extremely fortunate that both times she had met the Leader of the Ice Giants – had ended without incident (although not greeting him would have been much better). Alas there was no guarantee that she would not see the Prince ( _King!_ ) again or that another meeting would come to pass in such a threat-less manner (to her and the warriors). Additionally, if she would continue with these outrageous and dangerous journeys it would only be a matter of time until her trapped allies would notice her presence disappearing – their oblivion could not last. And in that scenario she would be forced to lie because she could offer no valid explanation of her trips to the icy librarium, nor could she reveal the truth of what she had found there.   

Oath-breaking was considered to be amongst the most heinous crimes – both an immortal and a mortal could commit, punished after death in the Nastrandir – a place located in Hel. And she was supposed to be one who never broke her oaths, apparently however that did not include what she swore to herself. So because of that she had discreetly sworn to her Asgardian friends that she would not leave again.

When another fruitless attempt at escaping had occurred, a strong shockwave from the green tinted barrier had harmed everyone involved in it. The healer had to commit herself to her duty once more and heal the ones who were wounded. Fandral had been the one to unwittingly accept her oath then. The flirtatious warrior had asked her with a gallant smirk whether she would not leave him and she’d said that she would not – unless the situation was beyond her control. The girl hadn’t known how true her faulty phrasing was...

The Asynjur was a woman who valued her cleanliness greatly. It was not like she had a severe aversion to getting dirtied, if she would have, then being a healer and especially one that often took part in helping the men injured in battle – where mud and blood, and other bodily fluids reigned – would not have been possible. However in her current predicament cleaning herself was fully possible and she was feeling so sweaty and dirty that she simply wanted to wash it all away (sometimes a bath had the capacity of cleansing not only the body but the mind as well, however that was highly unlikely to occur this time – her psyche was simply too heavy and too much under stress of a real threat).

The washroom was close to the chamber the Aesir occupied, so it would be quite safe for her to visit it for a longer amount of time. The half-blood Vanir had informed the Asgardians where she would be heading and what she intended to do, they had found no reason to oppose. 

She had been in the washrooms plenty of times, however she had never quite allowed herself to explore them in detail, this time was no different in that aspect. No matter how well they were accommodated – it was best not to forget that she and her friends were still prisoners, so taking such liberties (and she had done so before – with high risks, she added inwardly) was not very wise.

The area was accessible through a single door and there were several rooms meant for different purposes. The blonde female went for one of the bathing chambers, it was fashioned from white blue-veined marble – just like the rest of them. It was brightly lit with strange lights and there were no windows. The room was very large and housed a lot of tubs and other peculiar washing facilities (which she did not investigate). Some were small (Asgardian-sized), others were huge. The latter reflected the purpose of being used by the true inhabitants of the Ice Realm. She didn’t consider that they might have been meant to be used by more than a single person and although such was not unheard of in Asgard, she was very modest and the possibility had not crossed her mind. Even though she was royalty she had never had servants help her bathe, therefore to her it was a very private matter.

The untitled Lady chose a white marble tub that was moderately small and would be comfortable for her to use. She fiddled with the taps for a few minutes and was not surprised when the water had turned hot. When such things like fireplaces could be found in this wing of the palace, and the information she had gathered from the owner of this dome himself – it wasn’t all that odd.

It wasn’t difficult to locate all the necessities she would need for a sufficient bath, clearly this was considered by their captors. Beside one of the walls there was a plentitude of cabinets where plush towels were located, as if in waiting for someone to use them. Also on the rim of the tub she was filling up with steaming hot water – rested at least a dozen of various bottles and vials, which couldn’t have been anything else than bathing oils.

The girl-woman undressed and neatly folded her clothing, afterwards she placed them beside the readied towels. Behind the cabinets there was a thick mirror that reflected Sigyn from middle up. Having to look at herself when she was nude was difficult, she felt exposed and vulnerable, however that wasn’t all that it was. It was not that she felt inadequate (although she did, but only if she stressed the subject), it was just that being naked was so embarrassing and she felt so... indecent. Therefore she quickly turned away from the reflective surface that hung on the wall and swiftly made her way to the bathtub.

Closing the tap so that it would cease filling the round tub with liquid – she quickly entered it. The water was very hot (although not unbearably hot, the high temperature was exactly what she was aiming for) and somehow seemed very pure, perhaps it was melted ice that she was now lounging in. It lulled her terribly, urging her to relax and spend a few hours in its warm embrace – however that was not something she could do. So a tad leisurely, but with all the quickness she could muster, she commenced with her cleaning procedures.        

* * *

 

The bathing was great and it tempted her to enjoy herself longer. However she had stretched her preset limit as much as she could, so she did not have the luxury to remain in the warm water anymore. The bathing oils had been marvelously effective, her body had not been exactly dirty – but they worked wonders on her slightly matted hair. They had strong but pleasant scents, even if she couldn’t recognize them enough to say what they had been made from.

Draining the bathtub, while still being in it, the young woman turned the liquid to run again. Scooping little handfuls of it she rinsed herself off of the sudsy water. With that done she exited the tub and made her way swiftly to the cabinet that she had placed the towels upon, feeling great discomfort at having to walk naked. Distractedly she removed one of the towels and did a thorough job of drying herself and a slightly shabby one on her wet, darkened by water, hair.

After debating for a moment on what to do with the plush cloth she had used to dry herself, she decided on folding it and placing it onto the ground. Just for good measure she took another huge white towel and wrapped herself in its softness, it was so big that it trailed on the ground like a gown. While taking care of her wet skin she had lamented a bit about her clothing. She didn’t have anything else to change into (it was not like she had assumed that she would be taken captive in Jotunheim and given access to washing facilities). If she would have had something, any other set of clothing (no matter how little, as long as they were clean) – the healer could have washed these and then resumed wearing them. But really, that was such a minor thing; she felt slightly guilty for how casually her brain sometimes thought in her current (dangerous) situation.

The soak had left her feeling happy and somewhat calmed, but that feeling did not last. It was violently shattered when she turned to start putting on her clothing – only to find all of it gone. Immediately her warmed flesh had gone cold – a side effect of her dread. The girl quickly began looking around, trying to locate her missing garments, although she was more than certain that she had put them there where they were no longer present. Clad in only the oversized snowy towel she made a quick round of the chamber, alas found no sign of her clothes.

She wasn’t feeling frustrated – she was downright _scared_. There was nothing else to be done, she could only head back to the room the Asgardians occupied. Surely she could remain in the corridor and call Lady Sif through the crack of the door, she would help her without a doubt and something could be worked out. And with that in mind the Vanir went towards the direction of the door, however she didn’t make it as she stopped dead in her tracks. All she saw was a wall, the door was... _gone_. 

Instantly nausea began crawling up her throat. And although now she was feeling dizzy she hadn’t been disoriented in the slightest when she had entered this place, so it was impossible that she was simply looking in the wrong direction. Franticly, but not very quickly, she walked to the bare wall where the exit should have been. She touched it with one shaking hand, hoping beyond all hope that her eyes were deceiving her, but that her touch would not. Alas the Asynjur was met with no visual illusion, there was no trick – the cold wall had no door incorporated in it.

Sigyn didn’t scream, didn’t cry out for help. She knew that that was useless, the walls were simply too thick and there was a corridor to which the entrance had now disappeared. No one would hear her. Even when listening beside a closed door (and she had done so when she had returned from her first venture to the library) – nothing could be heard, the chambers were just too soundproof.

Completely encased in blind panic she nearly started spinning in circles (which wasn’t at all wise, if one was attempting to get their bearings), desperately trying to find a way out of this trap, while trying not to trip over the trailing towel. Mid sixth spin she paused when she saw something that was out of place. In the opposite side of the large room there was a door – one that had not been there prior. And the young Lady had checked out these chambers multiple times before, this time included. And it wasn’t only because she was within enemy territory that she was so keen on mapping every exit and entrance point, but also because something so _private_ always made her very attentive to such vital details.

She startled terribly at this strange new development (although she couldn’t truly say just how new it was – the door was not there when she had arrived to take her bath, but whether it had appeared just now – she couldn’t say for sure), however her mind was already furiously mulling over her choices. And in the minutes that had passed she had not managed to find any other solution to her problem (if this even was a solution and not merely another complication). The only thing this fright-encased thinking yielded was that she had no other option but to inspect what lied beyond the door, which had appeared so unexpectedly.  

With a white-knuckled grip on the towel she cautiously approached it. Her hand shook terribly (just as her whole form did) when she placed it on the round doorknob. The female found the door unlocked as she slowly turned the knob. She did not open the white painted, wooden door fully. With a heart that hammered in her chest like a trapped little bird – she peered through the tiny crack she had created, hoping to find something familiar...    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nastrond (plural: Nastrandir) – in Old Norse meaning "corpse shore(s)", a place located in Hel, meant for punishing the guilty in the afterlife.


	12. Of mismatched girls and mock-halos

**Chapter twelve**

**_Of mismatched girls and mock-halos_ **

The shivering girl, clad in just a towel, could not see anything familiar through the crack of the door. Sigyn just stood there, crouched and hyperventilating, simply searching the vicinity with her eyes. She pushed the door open just a little bit more in vain hopes that if more of the chamber would be uncovered to her sight – she would manage to recognize it. If she could, then maybe she would have some idea of how to get back to her Asgardian friends. It did not matter now – her state of undress, as long as she could return to safety (in truth nothing was safe in this cold dome, but at least she would not be alone and utterly helpless). For all she knew, the room could be anywhere in this palace. If that were so – she would have no chance of ever joining the warriors.

Much to the young Lady’s dread her first impression had been correct – the bedchamber she now stared into was definitely not one she had seen before. The room itself was not intimidating – all in various shades of purple and violet; silk, satin and lace; red mahogany furniture – Aesir-sized. Alas the fret was not for the setting but for the fact that it was completely unfamiliar to her.

She had searched with her big, fear-stricken eyes the chamber for any creatures and everything indicated that it was empty. Unless of course someone was specifically hiding in some corner – there were no Frost Giants present in the violet colored room. And it didn’t really make sense logically that there would be a Jotunn hiding there. If she had insulted the King in some way or done some other unforgivable thing, such an ambush on a weaponless healer was beyond ridiculous. Killing her (don’t think about that – she told herself repeatedly) in such a strange fashion, after setting up such an elaborately pointless plot – the half-blood woman doubted that the Ruler would have bothered to do something like this. However, a voice in her mind said that perhaps it wasn’t all that illogical, it was quite the good way – to humiliate someone by taking all of their clothes before executing them. She clenched her eyes shut at the horridness of the thought. Had she really done something to earn such a punishment? From what she had seen so far, the Leader of the Ice Jotunns appeared to be an intellectual and a quite sensible man. Although it could also be possible that the tales told in Asgard about the inhabitants of Jotunheim were true and they were no more than monsters... 

Having no other choice the Vanir female entered. But as soon as the heavy door swung behind her back softly closing, she nearly broke down. The urge to just crawl into some corner and cry was exceedingly strong. The only thing that stopped her from doing just that was the promise she had made – she would not leave her friends. So once again, with unshed tears in her eyes and hands clinging to the towel as if it were a lifeline (and in the current situation it was the only thing holding her shattering mentality together), she began inspecting the room for any clue to tell her where she was, why she was here or how to get back...

The quick thought that it was a bedchamber was proven correct by the presence of a large bed with a beautiful canopy, the curtains of which were tied to the bedposts. The room was furnished ornately, however it lacked something that would have meant that it was someone’s personal quarters. Although it wasn’t bared to the essentials, it was prepared as if for someone to use it. The absence of windows only served to unnerve the girl-woman more: the room that she and her companions had initially found themselves in – had them, meaning that right now she could be somewhere deep within the palace and far away from that wall, near which the chamber the Aesir used was. 

Her worried green orbs were dancing from item to item, from corner to corner – however she found nothing helpful. When they landed on the bed, which was to her left, something that did not belong there caught her attention. There was something pale – a piece of parchment most possibly, and a package of some sort.

Carefully she approached the mattress that was covered with an elaborately embroidered, deep purple, silken sheet. There was a brief debate in her brain on whether she should pick the note up or not – it was possible that it was not meant for her eyes, it would be a grave insult to intrude on someone’s privacy like that. What choice did she have though? Sigyn was scared beyond words, she was alone and nearly naked, lost in some random room in a malevolent castle of ice; truly, how worse would it get if she touched something she was not allowed to? She was practically in a chamber she doubted she was allowed into – never mind touching the items in it.   

With one hand tightly gripping the plush drying cloth she had around herself, with the other she cautiously picked up the parchment on which symbols from black ink danced (they weren’t literally dancing, although in her terrified mind they might as well have been). The Asynjur instantly noted the fine penmanship, the gorgeous cursive the runes were written in.

She did not know whether the first line scared her or relieved her – on one hand she had actually managed to find a clue, on the other hand – well, how bad it would be depended on what was written next. The first words written were simple but terrifying all the same, they read – “ _Lady Sigyn_ ”. The girl really didn’t have it in her to admire how beautifully her name was written, all her thoughts were centered on finding something about this whole frightening situation. 

The rest of the note addressed to her was short but it had no less of an impact – _“I would like you to join me for dinner on the seventh hour”_ (she had no idea what time it was, so how could she tell when seven o’clock would strike?), _“I had taken the liberty of choosing your outfit for the evening”._ The invitation ended simply and revealed the sender (it could not have been anyone else) – _“King Loki”_. The curtness of the message was not unexpected, it was very formal and lacked any insincere epithets. It answered some of her questions (but did not quell her great anxiety), yet inspired a lot more.

There was no way that the untitled Lady could escape this meeting and it was not just because he was the captor and she – along with the Asgardian warriors – his prisoner. He was a King and her stature was far too low for her to be able to decline. Furthermore, such would have been a great insult (in Jotunheim as well she reckoned) and while at the moment she had done nothing to call forth dangerous repercussions – failing to comply with this ‘invitation’ could definitely change that. So far they were all safe and placed not just under habitable conditions – the Aesir were actually trapped in luxury, alas that could swiftly shift should anyone do something unforgivable.

The female wanted nothing more than to return to her friends, however that was not going to become a realized wish for some time – she mournfully thought. Although as an Asynjur and because she was of royal blood she had interacted with royalty, that did not mean that she was not nervous when she had to be in the presence (when she was required to be an active participant in conversations) of Monarchs. That combined with her fear of the Jotunn Leader did not help her tender state of mind. She did not know all that much of the proper etiquette when it came to interacting with royalty on a more familiar basis (like in the situation of a shared meal with a highborn), but there was also the fact that she knew nothing of the Ice Realm’s customs. One wrong word or action could unintentionally land all of them in grave danger and she knew that silence was not an option – it was definitely just as much of an insult in this world too.  

With a shaky hand she set down the note. It could not offer her nothing more, so staring at it for any longer was but a waste of precious time. In her current predicament the only thing that she could do – was comply with the royal Giant’s request. Showing up for dinner in just a towel was unacceptable, anything would be better (and she hoped that there would be the kind of _anything_ that she’d find wearable).

Now that she knew that the delicate package was for her – the woman turned her attention to it. It was wrapped beautifully – like the finest of presents – with velveteen azure material and tied with a light green ribbon. Fastening the drying cloth she had on her naked form tighter – so that it would stay put, she took the parcel into her hands.

She cautiously untied the ribbon, feeling great trepidation as if something was about to jump out of the box and eat her. When she had the lid removed and placed on the bed, the contents in the gift-box consisted of nothing sinister, only what she had expected to see. The first item that greeted her was a small piece of clothing, however it was very vital for her to feel comfortable (it was good that her garb for the evening had been thought through with such detail, no matter how embarrassing it was that someone else had picked that out for her). The undergarment both soothed her and unsettled her. It was a tiny thing (but so very important) and mostly made from _transparent_ fabric (though the material was thicker just there where it would rest over her very core), with _strings_ on the sides – to hold it together. Still, its inappropriateness mattered little because she was not meant to dine with the Jotunn Prince clad in just panties. Gingerly she put the undergarment on the bed, mindful of leaving it within her field of sight (lest it would somehow just magically disappear, like doors apparently did in this strange dome).      

She could see, even without removing the garment (presumably the piece of clothing she was meant to wear when meeting the royal Ice Giant), that it was exquisite. The fabric was dyed in a marvelous light green that reminded her of the very first leaves to appear on trees in spring. It was embroidered with the finest golden thread (the girl could have sworn that it was actual gold needled into the fine material) depicting various swirly floral ornaments. As well as adorned with various jewels, such as – emerald (it was probably the domineering gemstone, from what she could see without removing the clothing from the box), apatite, malachite, fluorite, turquoise, labradorite, aquamarine, tanzanite, quartz, topaz, fire opal and sunstone (being the daughter of a Dvergar King, she was quite knowledgeable when it came to identifying precious stones).

The Vanir simply gawked at the carefully folded garment. She realized that it would be the first time that she would ever publically wear something that expensive (because a long time ago, when Freya used to visit more often, Sigyn had worn her mother’s clothes and even jewelry when she was a child playing dress-up in front of a mirror). However the beauty was swiftly overshadowed by a shadow of mortification when she finally took the piece of clothing into her hands. It was far too revealing, something one would never see in any festival or feast happening in Realm Eternal, especially during daytime. Just the most risqué of women in Asgard could wear something like that and only when some celebration would be well underway (so that most of the conservative people would have already gone home and the rest – too inebriated to care, and those intoxicated male individuals who would – were actually the very reason those females would be dressed in such a fashion).

The gown was long and light in weight. The support of it relied on a marvelous neckpiece, ornamented with small jewels and the centerpiece being a large emerald. From the choker extended fine golden threads that were fastened to the fabric that would lie on the wearer’s breasts. But while that part of her would be mostly covered, the neckline however offered little skin to hide. It was so low that the female doubted that the dress would cover her navel – the cut was very, very low. And the back of the green gown – well, it was completely open. There was even a big slit on one side, so lengthy that it would probably expose her hip. She trembled at the idea of wearing the beautiful yet terrible dress.

The healer had to set the piece of clothing down because she noticed more items in the parcel. Two more packages (both wrapped in gorgeous paper and tied with ribbons), one small and the other being much larger. Boxes within boxes...

She slowly took the bigger package from the trick-box. Within it she found a pair of dainty green shoes, very open, with straps and little heals. Surely those were much different from the modest but warm slippers she had previously worn. She absentmindedly wiggled her toes (the carpet she stood on was soft), feeling glad that the heals were small – if they were any taller she was certain that she would not have managed to make her way to wherever she was supposed to go – without tripping and falling over herself.

Next was the small box and she truly had no idea what she would find within it. With a careful hand the Lady opened it. Inside was a pair of long emerald jeweled earrings. So beautiful but of course audacious (with their plentitude of precious stones and length). She was brought back to the memory of her mother, the Love Goddess would have had no objections to wearing something like that (she was bold enough to wear her necklace Brisingamen, although the story, often told to be a rumor, of how Freya had actually acquired it – was much more outrageous than the piece of jewelry itself).

However the earrings mattered little to the young woman, considering the fact that her ears were not pierced. Thinking of the accessories made her remember her mother, how she had clapped joyfully when her daughter, dressed in her clothing, would twirl about the mirror (but that was painful to think about, that was a past that was all too soon in its passing; Freya had never lingered long in one place or stayed long in one persona – like that of a mother’s).

With the contents of the trick-box emptied she could stall no longer. Without removing the towel (as gracefully as she could) she put on the panties. The girl-woman could not proceed with the same tactic when it considered the gown, so she was forced to remove the drying cloth (and she did so very hesitantly, as if she was saying goodbye to her lifeline). The dress sat well on her and she was relieved to find that the fabric was thicker there where it covered her breasts and that the neckline did not plunge deep enough to reveal her navel. However those two factors were not much help to her overall state – she still felt so exposed and so... naked.

Not knowing what to do with the towel she folded it neatly and left it on the bed. Then came the shoes, she sat down to put them on her bare feet. Everything fit her perfectly as if it was all tailored for her (and that wasn’t all that impossible – that everything was made for her, although how the tailor knew her measurements was a mystery). The light green gown and the strapped shoes fit her so well as if they were all laced with magic.

Having dressed up Sigyn felt lost. Her frantic gaze stopped by the vanity and she cautiously approached it, wanting to see her own reflection. However her initial goal was forgotten for the moment when she noticed an oval clock resting on the wall just above the mirror of the make-up table. It would be her guide in telling her of the time, but something odd was presented to her sight. Instead of twelve numerals there were thirteen, with the number thirteen dominating the position of where twelve should have been. It seemed that Jotunheim’s day counted not of two dozen hours but of a pair of devil’s dozens. The Asynjur quickly shook off that revelation and instead paid attention to the time – it was exactly the sixth hour, meaning that she still had an hour to spare.

Gingerly she sat down onto the plush chair, which stood just in front of the vanity. She found her visage to be strange – mismatched. The plain face, which she so easily recognized and saw every day in any reflective surface, was combined with the same body – but clad in something completely out of her realm of both normalcy and comfort.

To say the least, the state of her hair was poor. She had done a hasty and a shoddy job when she had mindlessly dried it with a towel. Now her locks were frizzled and tangled. The table was covered with an array of paints and vials – obviously there for a reason, so that the woman who’d stay here would be able to prepare herself sufficiently (but she was not someone who knew how to use face-paints and for once she felt very inadequate for that). The Vanir girl spied the items in search for a hairbrush or some sort of comb, in order to try tidying her misbehaving platinum strands – she had to at least make an attempt to make herself presentable. And without a doubt, she managed to locate a brush and set to work on her hair, although she felt ill for many reasons.

When the young woman finished with her hair she looked herself over and did not feel satisfied – her locks were tangle-free but looked flattened (her hair was naturally fluffy, but with the arduous grooming – it lacked a nice looking volume). With her outrageous garb and plain face – she thought herself to be terribly, terribly mismatched.

She nearly shrieked when she saw shadowy tendrils rise over the wall behind the vanity. However she held her ground, hoping that whatever these ethereal things were – they meant her no harm. The shadows extended in a sinister mock-halo. The fluctuating, semitransparent, black tentacles tentatively wrapped themselves around a few make-up stuffs and hovered with them midair. The mixed-blood Lady quickly understood their reason of appearance – they were meant to serve as helpers. Although she was familiar with magic – she had never seen something like _that_. The terrifying aid was allowed to do its work (meaning that she just sat there with her eyes shut – she was still too frightened to see how the cool presences ‘pampered’ her).

After a long time the tugging of her hair and the brushes moving along her face had ceased. With a flutter of her eyelids – she once again welcomed the sensation of sight and the dark shadows were nowhere to be seen. Alas what she did witness – stole her breath. She did not know exactly how _that_ kind of female entertainers (courtesans) looked like, however she did not think that she looked very similar to them now. Sigyn did not recognize herself in the mirror. Yes, she looked far too audacious, far too open... but her mother could uphold such a look with pride and joy, so she could uphold it with determination. She felt greatly uncomfortable and colossally embarrassed, but she would do it – she had no other choice.

The almond shape of her big eyes was accentuated by thick and curved lines of black kohl. Painted with dark green eye-shadow that lightened as it went towards her inner eye corner: from forest green to spring green and finally to a shimmering white in the very corner. Her lips glistened with a peachy tint that appeared very pale when the light caught it right. Her too pale face was overall left without much powder, no sign of a healthy blush coating her cheeks.

The healer’s hair was gathered into an intricate chignon – somehow different from what was fashionable in Asgard. As she turned in the chair she caught sight of an emerald hair-clasp, which held the strands back. The fringe on her forehead appeared to be less unruly, a thick lock was curled into delicate ringlets and allowed free reign on the right side of her face.

An overpowering fancy hit her (probably something left from innocent childhood, when clothes and make-up were just pretty and there was no such thing as too exposing, too lustful or too inappropriate) and with a quarter of an hour still remaining to seven, she allowed herself to indulge. The Asynjur quickly retrieved the small box and set to seeing how she would look if she would be able to put on the earrings. She took one out and brought it close to her ear. Alas she did not manage to get a good look because she was distracted with a bee-sting like sensation when the sharp hook of the piece of jewelry pierced her flesh. The Vanir gasped at the small pain and started trembling anew – the unexpectedness of the situation was simply too much. The small wound did not bleed and there she was with just one earring. With a strongly shaking hand she moved the other one to her unharmed ear, she had to do so – she could not appear to a dinner with the Prince, looking so half-baked. And again as if with a magic push the other green-gemmed earring was dangling from her ear.

Five minutes to the seventh hour and her fret and anxiety rose to a fervent pitch. She kept glancing at the door, not knowing whether she was supposed to leave or not, so she simply waited – as if some sort of heavenly sign would tell her when she should go. When the clock soundlessly struck seven an unexpected sound nearly had her tripping off the seat and scrambling as far away as possible.

The door creaked open just by a little bit. With her heart thumping loudly in her chest she just stared, waiting, waiting, waiting and fearing, fearing for whatever or whoever it was to appear. But no one did and so she cautiously approached it. Poking her head she saw just an empty (and unfamiliar) corridor, there were no scary servants or anyone beyond the door for that matter.

There were torches and only some of them where lit. They illuminated a clear path – which she summarized she was meant to follow. So the woman walked through the meandering hallways, as if a child following breadcrumbs in some morbid version of a fairytale gone wrong.

The labyrinth of light, as if that of a divine intervention, ended with a pair of heavy wooden doors. If her guess was correct – then she was just a doorstep away from the Jotunn King. Sigyn pressed her shaking palms to the metal studded doors and attempted to regulate her breathing. Due to their heaviness she opened them with some difficulty, fervently hoping not to find another trick of find-the-right-path and follow-me-here, or something much worse... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brisingamen – is a necklace of Freya. The story of how she acquired it, which I was hinting at, does not necessarily refer to the Brisingamen. The myth on how she got a Dverger made necklace is this – the Love Goddess saw four Dwarf blacksmiths crafting a beautiful necklace, she offered to buy it but the smiths were reluctant sell it, they had plenty of valuables and anything she could offer was inadequate. So instead of regular payment Freya struck a deal that she would spend a night with each of the Dvergar in exchange for that piece of jewelry.


	13. Ice dinning

**Chapter thirteen**

**_Ice dinning_ **

The heavy doors opened and Sigyn’s sight was greeted by a large dining hall. It was mostly decorated in black colors with only the furniture being of white marble laced with cracks of palest icy blue. There was a long table covered in a snow white tablecloth, with black metal candelabras and other darkly colored accents. At the end of the dining table sat the King himself.

The doors closed behind her noiselessly, the click of the lock being the only sound. The moment she laid eyes on the Ruler she curtsied and uttered in a shaky voice.

“Your Majesty.”

He gracefully rose from his seat and returned the greeting.

“My Lady.”

With his standing she instantly noticed that he was wearing the garment of the same fashion as she had seen him wear before. Although this time it was black and had silver ornaments, which from what she could tell might as well have depicted snakes. His hair was different – slickened back the same way but straightened. The silver circlet the Jotunn Prince wore was similar but not the same as before – the centerpiece of it was a large bloodstone.

The Giant extended his hand and gestured to the large seat on the opposite end of the table.

“Please sit.”

With her focus solely on the offered chair she took it. She was keenly aware of his penetrating gaze as she approached the seat – feeling almost painfully exposed, as if her skin was cut to show bone and sinew – for his meticulous study.

As he resumed his seated position he spoke once more.

“It would be terribly ill mannered of me, if I were to compliment you on your appearance this evening, seeing as I had a hand in creating it. However it would be unforgivably rude of me not to compliment you. You look beautiful, Lady Sigyn.”

“T-thank you, your Majesty” the girl stammered and did not really take the appreciation to heart. She was feeling ugly – looking pretty, it was not exactly the state in which she could accept any compliments.

The Leader of the Frost Jotunns shook his hand in a dismissive gesture, a slight frown marring his features. Her attention was instantly drawn to his hand as she noticed that his long blue-skinned fingers were topped with glinting black claws. And she would have definitely captured that into memory if she’d have seen them before, which indicated that his fingernails had not resembled talons prior. Also they had not been so darkly colored, the shiny effect they held now could not be natural – it was as if the male’s nails were covered in the darkest of varnishes. She had to suppress a shiver at the sharpness and deadliness his hands displayed, she had to banish the imagination of them being covered in blood as well.

The female was brought back to the moment when his velveteen words graced the air between them.

“Enough with such valiant use of etiquette, I would loathe our dinner to be so oppressively formal” he meant the way she was referring to him, but how could she do anything else – he was a Monarch and she had to pay proper respect. Alas the untitled Lady could not refuse the royal one either; it was not her place to do so.

“Yes, my Lord.”

He seemed to be satisfied with her answer.

“You look positively radiant in that gown, my Lady. The color brings out your eyes, such a marvelous spring-green.”

The healer thanked him again and did find it slightly peculiar how the Ice Giant knew of what a spring-green looked like – with his dwelling being that of eternal winter. Although it wasn’t all that strange – he was very knowledgeable about many things, she could tell, and so she did not think much of his words or what they meant beyond an offhanded praise.

“Now then,” he said as he reclined into his big, black fur padded chair “I believe you are quite startled by the suddenness of this invitation and are thinking of my reasoning.”

She straightened when she heard him say that. Perhaps he was going to uncover something important – although the young man appeared to be too calculative to allow some vital information to slip. And truly, even with the prospect of being of some use to her Asgardian allies, all she really wanted was to be reassured that everything was fine and that nothing ill awaited them all.

“There have been slight changes that concern you and your comrades. But do not fear, it is nothing that is of any harm to any of you” he quickly told her and stifled the rising alarm in her, if just by a tiny bit. “I wished to clarify thus and we will discuss this later. I would be a terrible host if I were to commence with conversing about business so early at dinner.”

He did not allow her to interject with a word (not that she really had anything to say) and simply waved his hand. That very second, on his abstract order – a pair of side-doors opened and through them poured several Jotunns who carried trays and decanters. The half-blood woman tried to keep her panic from rising (it was irrational or maybe not – her mind was at conflict concerning that), therefore she avoided looking at the servants, even when one placed a plate full of steaming food right in front of her. The servers left as quickly as they had entered, not sharing a word with neither King nor his guest.

Her head snapped back from the black lacy napkin, which lied beneath her plate, when she heard that playful voice from the other end of the table.

“I hope you do not mind, my Lady, but I have thought that a tree course meal would be a bit too heavy. That is why we will start with the main-course.”

“Th-that is alright with me, my Lord” and she really meant it, although the hot meal had a pleasant smell, she was not hungry at all. Her stomach was in knots and protested at the very idea of food. Even this amount would be a big struggle – more would be a lost cause without a doubt.

“Lamb is often served in Asgard, correct?”

The Vanir did not know why the Frost Giant was asking that but answering questions like these was of little strain.

“Y-yes, that is correct.”

“This however is not lamb, this is a Jotunheimr ram.”

She instantly noted how the Ruler referred to his realm, how differently he phrased it (Jotunheimr ram rather than ram of Jotunheim). She briefly wondered what other differences there were between Realm Eternal and the Ice Realm, not just in the linguistic sense. The girl-woman listened attentively as the Monarch continued.

“Unlike the Asgardian creatures, these are not domesticated – they are hunted. Furthermore, they are not slain young – like lambs, they are slain when they are at their prime. Offers more a challenge to bite” he flashed her a charming smile but to her it seemed sinister – she even thought that his mouth was full of fangs.

The crowned Prince quickly went through the explanation of other ingredients used in the dish. Sigyn listened with actual interest, although she had none of it when it concerned actually tasting her dinner (and not because she found it disgusting in some way).

“My, what a bad host I have turned out to be!” he exclaimed, but there was insincerity and playfulness mingling in his lulling tone. She was startled because she really did not understand what he meant by that. “I have allowed my guest to sit with an empty glass” and with that he fluidly rose from his chair.

Her orbs grew wide at what he was planning to do (a King! A King was about to act like a servant and fill her glass!) and frantic declinations spilled from her lips.

“N-n-no, n-no, my Lord!”

“Nonsense” he approached the middle of the long table and took a decanter, without paying much attention to her. “It is of no bother – to serve a lovely guest such as you.”

She was frigid with the male being so close to her. The female could feel the cold emanating from his body and travelling towards her like a cool wind, making her skin turn to gooseflesh. The chamber was warm – but with him so close, filling her ornate crystal glass with a ruby beverage, the warmth seemed to ebb away.

“And besides,” he uttered as he was finishing the task “I do not think that you would appreciate me calling my servants again. You seem quite ill at ease, although I take no offense at that – in your situation, it is to be expected.”

The young woman felt as though she had swallowed her tongue, she really did not know what to say as the Leader strode away to attend to his own crystalline goblet. Was that because she had not expected such consideration from the Ice Jotunn (or any Jotunn for that matter) or was it consideration at all?         

Without even looking at her he began explaining the beverage, which her glass was filled with and his was in the process of being the same.

“This wine is made from berries that are simply referred to as snowberries. They are currently in season” at the word ‘season’ the listener perked up (who knew that Jotunheim had seasons?). “This drink’s quality is dependent on age, but contrary to most beverages – the youthfulness of it is the main key. It can be kept no more than a fortnight after its fermentation. The longer the snowberry wine is delayed in consumption – the bitterer it becomes. It is not considered to be an aperitif, therefore it will be perfect with the spicy main-course of tonight.”

The host of this strange dinner did not toast to anything nor did he make any attempt at making a gesture when he raised the chalice of crystal to his lips. And while that was not how it was supposed to proceed, the girl was relieved by the lack of words (what could possibly the capturer and the captive toast to?). With the lack of any proper formality considering the drinking of wine – she took a delicate sip.

The alcoholic liquid was unimaginably sweet and syrupy in its substance (like honey and yet completely unlike it). The small gulp burned her throat and settled like pure fire within her stomach – she had not expected it to be that strong. Protocol be damned, but she knew that if she wanted to walk (and not _crawl_ ) out of the room – she would not be finishing the dreaded glass.

Following suit after the raven-haired Prince ( _King, King, King, King, King...!_ – her mind screeched in correction) she took the fork and set to taste the hot food presented on her onyx colored plate. The healer took miniscule nibbles of her dinner, which was terribly spicy, but worked well with the drink served along with it. She could not say that the food was bad or mediocre, or even satisfactory – it was actually good, alas she was not hungry for it at all.

Some minutes later the occupant of the other end of the table voiced himself again, a new topic rolling effortlessly off his tongue.

“Have you finished the book you were reading?”

“N-no, my L-Lord, I have not” she stammered, startled by the question.

“Have you found it not to your liking?” he inquired while eating his food, he did so with poise that matched his appearance but not his bloodline (although she had to remind herself that he _was_ royalty).

“Not at all” the Lady honestly replied. 

He let out a contemplative humming sound at her words as he absentmindedly swirled the glass between his fingers.

“I do understand your hesitancy at... leaving your... comrades alone. They are very brash, I think you are aware of that Lady Sigyn. And so for that reason I can see the logic in your choice to no longer visit the library. But no matter...” the Giant waved his clawed hand in a peculiar gesture, as if showing his snapping of thought or wish to end conversing on the topic “Let us cease discussing thus, for now.”

She was not sure whether to feel glad for his halting of the theme or not. She was also uncertain of how much the Frost Jotunn knew or understood, and how much he wasn’t telling. His manner of speaking was so cryptic and lulling, but due to her great fear (which was fractured and only in those reckless fractures did she lose her grip on the fear when in his presence) the half-blood Vanir remained aware of the slightest of undertones existent beneath his clever words. Although often she was simply aware that there was _something_ beyond them and not what it was exactly. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game, but one that she had no chance to avoid.

* * *

 

The dinner progressed better than the woman had expected. The meal was finished (meaning more than half of her food was left untouched, she had tried to eat as much as she could though) without incident.

The fractures in her fear, the tiny irrational cracks were to blame for her state. She was tenderly forced into shaking away a sizable part of her fright. Like a child ushered into near-slumber by a marvelous lullaby, but still retaining an ember of resistance – the reality of where she was and with whom she was speaking.

She wasn’t terribly surprised to find that the Ice Giant was a great conversant, capable of dominating the conversation enough for her to feel comfortable to a degree, which allowed the panic to begin fading, albeit slowly. The previous thought that he had a vast intellect was only strengthened from feasible theory into a definite reality, the longer she talked with him – the more apparent this trait of his became. Sigyn however found herself unmatched by the King’s wit and she really couldn’t understand why someone like him would wish to interact with someone of such a low status as her (even with noble blood coursing through her veins).

But as she mulled over the peculiarity of the situation she came to a plausible explanation. With the good treatment of his prisoners and even his invitation of dinner in mind – it was as good a guess as any that he wanted to show his Kingdom in a different light. Little was known of Jotunheim and even less was thought of it. Seeing as the Monarch seemed utterly disinterested in war – it opposed the very idea most (Realm Eternal especially) had about the ideology of Frost Jotunns. And so perhaps it was his goal to be part of the Nine as more than the owner of an isolated and bloodthirsty realm. He was the new Ruler after all, and new politics were very much a possibility. The girl knew that a new Ruler could make all the difference in a world.

There was also a teeny-tiny part of herself (probably present in her mentality due to her Vanir heritage) that was exhilarated by the attention she was being given. She spoke little throughout the conversation – answering questions when asked and sharing tidbits of knowledge on the topics at hand. However all that she said was taken in with such interest (and she did not know, nor was it her place to question the royal man, whether that attentiveness was genuine – because for someone with such an intellect it was entirely possible to fake interest) that it actually made that miniature part of the Asynjur feel oddly appreciated for her input.

She was careful with what she said (and not just because she was afraid to insult the male), mindful as to the _true_ questions beneath his questions. She was so cautious since she did not wish to accidentally uncover some sort of hazardous (to Asgard) information. But she had yet to find something of that category within his topics and inquiries. There wasn’t anything (that she could think of) possibly useful for him _against_ Realm Eternal – when they mainly discussed cuisine, traditions and nature.

There was a several minute pause in their conversation, during which the female managed to fly off somewhere into her contemplative daydreams. But the silence was broken by the soothing yet power-emanating timbre of the Jotunn Leader.

“Iwaldi – your father’s name – it is not Asgardian, is it?”

She was somewhat startled by the question but found nothing insidious behind it. It was very much understandable that one would want to know more of the person they interacted with – it was only proper.

“Yes, i-indeed it is not. My father is of Dvergar blood.”

“I thought that the name was familiar. Perhaps there is any connection to the renowned King of the northern blacksmiths, Ivaldi?”

“That is correct, my Lord. Ivaldi the First was my grandfather, my father is Iwaldi the Third – the third-born child and the only one living from the four brothers. He is the King of the north-west region of Svartalfheim.”

“Ah, yes” he said with the satisfaction of remembering, lingering in his tone “The Ruler of the Wormwoods, the Ashen mountains and the Ivaldian mines.”

She nodded in confirmation while taking a small sip of the burning wine (her glass was still more than half-full).

“And your mother?”

“My mother is Freya Njorddottir.”

“The famous Love Goddess of Vanaheim, daughter of the Sea God Njord.”

“Y-yes” the mixed-blood answered although the highborn Jotunn wasn’t asking.

“I had a hunch that you were not Aesir” he commented offhandedly. And her revelation did explain a lot to him: her looks and her small stature, and also the feeling he had experienced – the certainty that she was not of Asgard. “Well then, my Lady, it appears that you have been wrongly claiming that you are no royalty. You have a very impressive bloodline.”  

“N-no, I--” she began alarmed. Perhaps this line of conversation was not as harmless as she had believed it to be (and she had quite readily given him even more than he directly asked for). Now she was frantic because she had to justify herself – she was not deceiving, she was merely telling the truth. Her blood did not really make her part of nobility, it meant nothing as she was not an officially recognized royal herself.

Her words were cut unfinished by the Giant King’s cold but not harsh interjection.

“We are not in Asgard, Lady Sigyn. I must remind you that you are in Jotunheim. And I do not think that your _heritage_ is unrecognized in Asgard. What the said realm holds _your_ station to be – matters not to me. Your blood is royal and _I_ recognize it as such. Therefore what I refer to you as – is not just good manners.”

The Ice Jotunn sounded firm and his statement offered no room for any kind of argument. His gaze was piercing and underneath its weight the _Lady_ found not a word that she would be able to form and utter.

* * *

 

The dinner progressed as did the conversation. They had consumed their dessert, although at that time the Ruler of the Cold World had noticed her unspoken but obvious reluctance at the prospect of more food. He had encouraged her to at least try (which she would have anyway – since it would have been impolite to decline).

She had consumed just a few spoonfuls of it. Despite the fact that it was divine in its taste, she could not have possibly eaten more, if circumstances would have been any different she would have gladly gobbled down the delicate portion. He had explained the dessert much like he had done with the main-course, but her mind had been far too handicapped to grasp and not let go of the foreign naming of the sweet dish and its ingredients. It was obviously not made from meat or fish and not from fruits or berries – but that was the extent of her memory concerning it. The dessert was cream colored and puddingy in consistence, served with that same version of Jotunheim’s bread.

With that part of the dinner seemingly finished (well at least the Leader had eaten his serving fully), he swirled his sixth or so glass of that strong, sweet wine.

“I believe it is time for us to discuss the reason behind our gathering this evening.”

The girl-woman’s fluctuating mind was brought to focus with those words. Due to her occasional scattered-braininess tonight she was brought back to the reality that she was here for a reason – she remembered that part of his earlier speech. She listened to him continue with as much attentiveness as she could muster (which was not little, not at all), in order to hear what was so important that the Monarch had decided to have her audience this evening. However she did not expect there to be an explanation for the dinner itself (aside from her guesses, which were definitely not something someone as clever as him would admit) because truly, he could have told her or informed her of whatever it was without the invitation to dine.

“I have come to the decision that it would be wisest to separate you all from one another.”

Fear and dread encased the girl, his decision made no sense and she was scared of what it was supposed to mean. She did not want to be alone, desperately did not want to be separated from her friends.

“This is for all of your safety” he went on after a gulp of the beverage in his crystalline goblet and did not break the eye contact he held with her “Due to the recent... events, I have come to the conclusion that the best precaution against such occurring once more – is separation during your stay” the last word was a mockery to be heard from a captor, however there was neither obvious nor shadow mocking present in his even tone. “Because you will all be separated from one another, the chances of a strong backlash of the barrier shall be tremendously smaller. Even in the case of another attempt – the harm done to that person would be much less, and without the direct interference of others and their prompting – the chances would be further reduced. And of course without you – the healer, in their presence, it is less likely that your comrades will be so... reckless. However, I assure you that if anyone is going to come to any harm – I will allow you to heal them. This is merely an insurance against severe injuries, for continued combined abuse on the barrier _will_ cause serious harm.”

“Yes, my Lord” Sigyn nodded and issued a vocal agreement – what else was she to do? And although she fervently did not like this change – that did not mean that she didn’t see the logic behind it. The newest attempt of the Asgardians to escape the enchanted walls blocking the chambers they were imprisoned in – had wounded everyone that was involved (except for her, since she knew her duties and the possibility of harm, therefore she had remained unhelping in case of the worst – which had occurred). And with this new development – it would lessen the possibility of that happening again (although she had no way to know that this was not a trap and that the man was telling the truth – even if what he said was fully believable).

She did not of course believe that he was making these arrangements because he _cared_ for the health of the trespassers who had ventured into his lands. Though he sounded polite (but cold), it was best to presume that he was simply interested in the state of his _bargaining chip_. This led her to the fact which she already knew, the fact that roused more of the uncertainty that she was trying hard to shove further away – so that it would not burden her and make her less capable where her duties as a healer were concerned. Whatever the Jotunn Prince was going to bargain for with the Allfather, his part of the bargain was the safe return of the Golden Throne Heir – Thor, and that did not include the rest of them. Therefore everyone except the Aesir Prince was in danger, for there was simply no solid reason why the warriors (herself included) would be left unharmed or even be part of the deal...

The Frost Giant gave her further instructions concerning where she would be staying, which was going to be in the violet colored room she had dressed in for the evening (he told her nothing of where he would keep the others). And also he mentioned that she would be free to visit the library, of course without worrying about the Asgardians finding her out (and fretting for what they could do and how that could harm them). With her being separated from them and their disinterest with that place of knowledge factoring in why it was not necessary to allow them access to it anymore. And he assured her that she would not be disturbed by anyone in the librarium. She assumed that it was the male’s personal library and (or perhaps for the time being) off-limits to anyone else.

He bid her goodnight and she returned the gesture (as was required by etiquette). Afterwards she left for her new bedchamber, feeling all twisted in the gut.

* * *

 

She found her way back to her designated chamber without much difficulty. The torches remained lit and illuminated only the right path that she needed to take in order to reach her new resting place. Even without their leading aid she was quite confident that she could have found the purple-violet bedchamber, for she was very careful to be extremely attentive when it came to memorizing routes, despite the halls of this palace resembling a labyrinth.

Once she shut the door the woman became instantly aware of her all-encompassing tiredness. She was exhausted physically and mentally. She did not even have the strength to worry over the other Asgardians (herself included), nor did she have the ability to cry over the helplessness she felt. She was so utterly alone... It was unimportant that there was still a possibility of another serious incident concerning any tampering with the magical walls, for if that meant that she would be able to reunite with them – she simply wanted to be with them, to not be left on her own. She had never felt so alone, so abandoned... The tomorrow and the day after – was a mystery in what it would bring, given if there would be a tomorrow at all – the Asynjur simply could not know.

There was nothing new to this room, except for the fact that the towel she had folded and placed on the bed had been removed, and clothing was put there instead – she guessed that those were supposed to be nightclothes. Somehow the fact that so little was changed mellowed her a little, created some form of a constant (even if an illusionary one). She needed to feel familiarity with her surroundings to continue without breaking down.

She stopped by the mirror and lethargically removed the jewelry that dangled from her ears. Spotting something fashioned out of black wrought metal on the vanity, she carefully placed the hooks of the earrings on one of the protruding metal branches. She did not think that it hurt if she had placed them on a sculpture of some sort and mistook its use. Afterwards she carefully unwound her hair from the ornate chignon and allowed it free reign.

With having nothing else to do and wanting only to rest (which hopefully she would be able to achieve) the Vanir approached the large bed. She had completely forgotten to wash off the heavy paint that covered her face. Seeing how she rarely had such a thing as make-up on (and never something so audacious) – she did not even remember in her energy-depleted state that she even had it on. If she would have remembered, she would have removed it so that it wouldn’t stain the pillowcases.

Too tired to even feel trepidation concerning in what clothing she would have to sleep in – she simply picked it up with the intention of wearing it regardless. As long as she was not naked (and she couldn’t slumber in the elaborate green gown either) – it was alright. The nightclothes provided was an ankle-length nightgown with tiny straps to hold its loose body on the wearer. The fabric was not transparent and silky in its feel – still it was not something she’d consider to be proper nightclothes.

She took off her shoes, noting that her feet felt slightly sore – but overall she felt terribly numb. Removing the dress from her form and draping it over a nearby armchair with care, the female put on the nightgown. It was cool in sensation, but that was not the reason behind a shiver, which wracked through her form – it was the way it touched her skin, her bare breasts underneath specifically – reminding her that she wore nothing else except for that tiny undergarment. She felt as naked as when she had worn the green evening gown. Although this was not as exposing, but it was loose – and while the dress was unspeakably revealing – it at least hugged her petite physique. So the articles of clothing were on par where the feelings concerning them went.

Although the chamber was not cold and actually quite warm, she still took the second piece of clothing with the intention of putting it on. It was a robe fashioned of the same material as the nightdress, same silky feel, same pale lilac color. It really did little to make her feel secure, but a sufficient amount of clothing in general made her feel safer. And so if the girl got the opportunity to put on more and feel (even if just slightly) better – she was not going to waste it.

She blew out the candles and the ones burning on the chandelier dimmed by themselves. She did not mind that those close to the ceiling were not extinguished – it was reassuring that in this windowless room she would not be left to sleep in utter darkness.

As quickly as her tired form could allow she crawled into the bed. The bedding was from silk and so – quite cold, however the cover that topped the sheet was quite thick and therefore she would not experience cold when she slumbered. And despite Sigyn’s murky worries concerning whether she would be able to fall asleep – she was out like a light the moment her head touched the soft pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaldi/Ivaldi – Iwaldi is the Marvel spelling (he is the father of Sigyn only in the comic-books), it is my guess that the character was based on the 'sons of Ivaldi' from the mythology (to my knowledge, it is the only Dwarf with a similar name from the myths; I am not sure whether the myths contain the names of those sons though). Therefore I tried to blend the mythical persona with the comic persona – so Iwaldi is Sigyn's father and Ivaldi was her (paternal) grandfather.
> 
> Wormwoods – not actually a region of Svartalfheim. I had thought that the lands Sigyn's father rules should be named, however I am not all that good with naming (and I couldn't have used Tolkien-ian forest names, lol). I had tried to find some suitable names of regions in Svartalfheim – but to no luck. However I had found something else and it was fitting. There is a character in the comics – a Dark Elf (Svart Alf) called Wormwood, and so I used his name for said lands (I must add though that I haven't read any comics – so that is where the similarity ends, there is nothing else that connects the character from the comic-books with the invented region).


	14. I am known by many names

**Chapter fourteen**

**_I am known by many names_ **

Sigyn’s state constantly wavered. Half of the time she was blissfully ignorant of everything, drowning in the miracles of the books she read (and she had gotten brave enough to even bring them into her room), the girl ‘tore’ through them with a maniacal passion. But when her daydreams were not enough to uphold the illusion – she fell into great panic and worry. She still had not seen or heard about her friends, and had no way of knowing as to how they were fairing or whether they were even _alive_. In her great anxiety she would wander the corridors and try to open each door, however most of them remained locked to her. She had even tried to nudge them open, pushing her shoulder into them with all the force she could muster – but they would not budge. The green, fluctuating barrier would become visible to the eye – indicating the barred state of the entrances, however the walls of energy never harmed her.

The half-blood Vanir had lost track of time. She had been isolated for a matter of days, she reckoned that it couldn’t have been more than a week. For her escaped sense of time – stress was to be blamed. Though there was that strange, thirteen hour clock in her room and the library offered a view of outside – but it was difficult sometimes to tell what time of day it was, especially when she could see a storm brewing outside.

She had yet to explore the whole of the vast librarium. Taking only a part of it to wander in each day – for fear of getting helplessly lost. It was probably an irrational fear but it was strong enough to keep her wish of having any adventurous explorations at bay.

The female always thought that she was not very outgoing – so company for her was not that vital, since she always took to herself. Whenever she had the chance, back in Asgard, she would always spend her time alone (if luck was on her side – then with a book). She had not realized though that she still had been surrounded by people – even if she interacted little with them. Alas having had so little contact now – made her feel strangely lonely. She yearned for any sort of presence around her. Even the Prince’s (King’s!) presence was peculiarly wanted and yet greatly dreaded. He became the kind of person to be respected, a man that knew a great deal of interesting things – however remained someone to never cross or upset.

The untitled Lady had met the royal Jotunn a handful of times, mostly in passing within that marvelous library. Sometimes he spoke to her, telling her things although she was too skittish to ask (but she was glad that he conversed with her nonetheless), and sometimes he made inquiries of her – which she always responded to. She still had in mind not to say anything harmful but what he asked of had yet to befall that category.

She never ceased wondering why he continued bothering with her. She had assumed that perhaps he wanted it to be known that his lands were quite different to what they were portrayed to be, and by doing that maybe he expected to have the realm removed from its ‘silent’ position. His random inquiries, uttered with ease, could possibly be his attempt to find out more about Realm Eternal – he was definitely cunning enough to use such convincing tactics in getting what he wanted. The young woman knew that the Frost Giant was very knowledgeable on the branches of Yggdrasill but all of it was bound to be just the things he had learned through the treasures within his librarium. If, of course, his words concerning the attack on Asgard were true – then he had no power to cross worlds. She believed that that was not to his liking. And if he was not seeking war – then it made sense that he was seeking the opposite – an alliance (or whatever semblance of it that would be possible to form between the Ice Realm and Realm Eternal). However she was not aware for what he was bargaining with the Allfather – what was so important to him in Gladsheim’s vaults.

The Ruler’s explanation was believable though – that there were traitors in the Odinfather’s court. While her Prince opposed such an idea, the healer was not of the same mind. She did not know very personally any of the court members – but was aware that some of them were greedy. So it was possible that one had found a way to travel without the aid of the Bifrost and had planned a breach of Asgard’s walls. Whatever was supposed to be stolen by the Ice Jotunns – had to be immensely powerful. Perhaps even powerful enough to pose a threat to Realm Eternal itself. If that was the case – then maybe the traitor had negotiated to give the Giants that item in an exchange for the Golden Throne.

Thinking about this though always made the girl-woman’s head hurt. It was not the same as trying to solve a mystery book, while in the process of reading it. The enrapturing fantasy was just not there, reality was too frightening and too complicated for her to make anything coherent out of it. Oh how she longed for this nightmare to be over...        

* * *

 

Alas the wish for company was ill-conceived, for a note and an ornate box had appeared once more. The letter – ‘invitation’ was just as curt as the last one, signed of course by King Loki. While it was the second time the Vanir had received such, it did not mean that it was less frightening (at least not by much).

While a dinner accompanied by a ‘casual’ conversation shared with such an imposing (and dangerous) person was not exactly appealing to her, the fact that it was most possibly meant to be a polite way of informing the Asynjur of something – made her feel all the more afraid. A random invitation (with the intention of studying Asgard by the cunning Lord) was not as dreadful as the possibility that he would give her some sort of bad news. Oh Norns, just let the Aesir warriors be unharmed – Sigyn prayed.

She did not stall with inspecting the contents of the shiny paper wrapped package (while being filled with curiosity and dread at what improper outfit lay within). She found a white dress, long and trailing – promising to be form-fitting (she shuddered at that), it was of lace and pearlescent silk.

The girl could actually wear something else, alas showing such disrespect to a Ruler – was not something she could possibly do (even under less perilous circumstances). However the only evening gown that there was – was the spring green, gemmed dress – which she had worn on the first dinner with the Monarch. Still that choice was not much better, maybe even worse – for that gown was even more revealing than this one (as much as she could tell from her short inspection of it). And there was no way that she could wear the clothes she wore on her day-to-day basis (that sounded so wrong, considering the woman’s current predicament).

She had received quite a few pairs of dresses – similar to the healer’s robes she had arrived in, however the fabric of the new ones was finer and much more expensive. There were also undergarments present in the drawers of a wardrobe, which was located in the purple-violet chamber. The same wardrobe also housed the simple (but rich) everyday gowns, the emerald evening dress and also shoes. None of these items she had placed there herself, just like meals – these things appeared by the same mysterious means of this dome.

There was no use idling in vain hopes that she would not have to go through with this. So the female began disrobing with the intent of putting on the dress, but not before sparing a glance to one of the nightstands that were beside the bed. On the wooden piece of furniture lied the clothing in which she had arrived in Jotunheim. Despite their earlier disappearance, they had reappeared the very next day. While they were a tad too warm for the temperature of this chamber, their presence soothed her (she did not know whether that had been the intent of her capturer), therefore they remained on the end-table.

In the package, which had magically arrived, there were several other objects aside from the gown. A white pair of panties (which she quickly put on, not having it in her to delay even a second, not willing to find out how much more embarrassed she could become because someone had selected such a thing for her again) and an odd brasserie. It did not have any straps – neither to embrace the back of the wearer nor to go on shoulders and be connected with the missing aforementioned ones. However when she placed it onto her nude breasts – it firmly stuck to her chest, the garment was obviously enchanted. She did not know whether to feel dismayed by the fact or not – but the brasserie pushed her small mounds so much that they appeared larger and... fluffier, than they actually were.

The dress was next. The Lady had correctly assumed that it would hug her tightly and it was less inappropriate than the one she had worn before (well, kind of...). Alas it still had a huge neckline, however this time the cut was not a deep plunging ‘v’ but a round one – and showed her breasts far, far more than she would have liked. The décolleté was not entirely spherical, for the long white feathers of snowy birds that rested on her shoulders, creating slight sleeves, also adorned her chest – creating a nearly heart-shaped cut.

Thankfully, the chest of the gown was that of silk – therefore it was not transparent. That was not the same with the material on the rest of her torso – it was of white, sheer lace – and exposed her abdomen all the way to her hips. From there on the same opaque, pearlescent fabric was incorporated, it clung to her derriere but flared from that point on. Well, at least her back was not exposed and there were no slits on the skirt – Sigyn thought to herself.

The shoes were quite simple in their form – rounded at the area of her toes, alas the heels were higher this time (although they were thick). The only intricacy to them were the little pearls that they were embroidered with.

Of course jewelry was not forgotten. A small box within that package contained them. The expensive trinkets were a pair of round earrings, each shaped in a thick bejeweled hoop and a big bracelet encrusted with the same precious stones, both of the pieces matched. They had pearls and gems – which she could not identify (and that was a rare occurrence because due to her father being a Dvergar King – she was very educated in the things that occurred in forges and such), the stones were neither diamonds, and neither were they mountain crystals, nor intricately cut glass.

The Vanir female had all the freewill to forgo the painting ‘ritual’, despite that though – she really had no choice. And anyway, it was better to complete her look, rather than appear as a peasant girl dressed in the clothes of royalty. She sat down in the chair by that beautiful vanity, mentally readying herself to being subjected to those black tendrils once more.

The ‘mock- halos’ worked on her hair, face and this time – even her fingernails. Being taken care of by the ethereal shadows was not something she managed to easily accept and relax into (no matter that all she had to do was sit still – that was an unnerving experience anyway). The daydreamer tried to calm herself by reminding herself of what these sinister looking tentacles were – ‘ _It’s all magic. Calm down. You love magic. And just think of what it would be like to have such a power under your beck and call. Think that these were created by a spell you had casted_ ’ – the amateur sorceress inwardly chanted. But another voice had added a thought that was all wrong, that voice – perhaps her Vanir or maybe her Dvergar blood speaking: ‘Think that _you are born for this, Sigyn_ ’. However the first two words of that sentence were uttered so silently that they made the suggestion turn into a statement. She denied those words, she rejected them – she was not meant to be royalty (she was not referring to her heritage but the lifestyle she was born to lead), she was not vain and she would never enjoy such senseless time-wasting. Alas, despite her best attempts at banishing the fact that that voice had appeared in the first place – she was not succeeding and that unsettled her greatly.

It took a long time for the preparation to be complete, it had felt even longer in the should-be-Goddess’s mind. When she opened her light green eyes they met her neatly placed hands, which were resting on the table (she had been unconsciously hunched throughout the ordeal). She had not had the necessary tools to trim her nails, not that they had grown a lot during her time spent in captivity, still they had been allowed to grow as they pleased. Now however her fingernails were cleanly filed into a rounder shape and coated in a shiny white varnish.

She raised her head to look into her reflection – and once more – the outcome was stunning. She could recognize herself and yet not at the same time. Her blonde hair was partially clasped at the back and partially allowed to fall freely ( _not for long_ – an angry, screechy voice inside her brain mocked, reminding her that she would soon be married. _If she would manage to return to Realm Eternal..._ The last morbid, foreboding thought was explicitly her own). Her platinum locks were all curled into gorgeous ringlets.

The half-blood woman’s eyelashes were painted in black, displaying their long length and curliness. Her eyelids were painted in shimmering white paints (which just slightly ranged into grey – so that the shape of her eyes would be accentuated). The stark whiteness brought out the brightness of her spring-green eyes, they appeared very large, shocked and apprehensive – but still more beautiful than usual. Her skin was powdered heavily – so much that she could not make out even a hint of her freckles. But the hue of the powder did not make her look more pallid – she was already as pale as she could be. Even her lips glistered with hints of whiteness – not overpowered with a white lipstick but covered in a shimmering lip-gloss.

She rose from her seat to put on the jewelry and afterwards returned to see herself in the mirror – to judge her now completed look. The overpowering whiteness did not make her look washed out, it created the illusion as though she were a nymph born in snow – a creature of snow white. Her orbs were the only element that was of an extremely different palette – they were of such a bright green that they even appeared to be shinning.

Compared to the previous ensemble she had worn to meet the Ruler of Jotunheim – this visage was tamer. Her face-paint was less extravagant and the garb was almost, _almost_ bearable. The only thing that made it most difficult to wear – was the low cut of the snowy gown. If that part would not have been so – then she might have even worn this to some feast (however, despite that, she could have _considered_ actually wearing such on her free will – it did not change the fact that she _wouldn’t_ ). Sigyn was no court-woman and not recognized royalty – so she would never dare to imitate such in Asgard, she was not audacious enough. It was frowned upon in Realm Eternal anyway – to pretend being someone you were not.

The image the mirror bespoke of – she had to admit – was beautiful. However she failed to associate her reflection with herself.

* * *

 

The Princess-not-really-Princess followed the lights. She found herself by a pair of familiar doors; this dining hall she had visited once before. Carefully, while feeling great trepidation, she opened them.

The healer was greeted by the sight of the Jotunn Prince sitting at the end of a large table, nursing a crystalline goblet. A mysterious smirk (one that he frequently wore) lit his face, he rose from his seat the moment she fully entered the chamber.

“Lady Sigyn” he greeted.

She fell into a curtsy.

“My L-Lord” she used the title the Leader of Frost Giants preferred over ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘Your Highness’.

She continued.

“You have called for m-me?” it was a subtle attempt (well, as much as she could manage, which was not incredibly much) at trying to find out whether there was any ill information that he wished to share with her.

“Yes, I have” he replied and his response was elusive – because it did not disclose his reasoning behind the invitation for dinner.

The young man gestured for her to sit.

“Please sit down.”

And so she did. She noted that the royal one was wearing his circlet (as she expected him to be) and his ebony hair was slickened back and strengthened, gathered in a ponytail that was loosely tied at the nape of his neck. He sat down far too quickly for her to be able to tell what garment he wore, all she knew was that it was darkly colored.

Loki watched the breathtaking Goddess with his gleaming crimson gaze. She fit so well in this hall, which was dominated by black, shinning like a blessed star, purifying everything in her way. It was not exactly in his nature to count women as pretty trinkets (in all actually females had never interested him, the quest for power was forever the ruler of his mentality), however in this case – he realized that he was doing precisely that. It was an Aesir trait, but it was there not without reason – he had to treat this beautiful creature this way and he would do so until she discarded everything Asgard had forced her to be. Only when she would lose everything Asgardian in her (not that he expected the girl to assimilate to Jotunnesses) and her true blood would take rule – only then could his relation to her change. Sigyn would have to be introduced to a different manner in ‘owning’ slowly, so that bit by bit the faux Asgardian temperament he had to incorporate would morph into his own.

“You look beautiful, my Lady” he commended.

“T-thank you” she stammered, although she reckoned that her apparel had been chosen by him (as he had hinted last time).

The Ice Giant chuckled.

“You are most welcome” the amusement in his words was tangible. After a curt pause he continued speaking “Your garb fits well the day that today is, this celebration, which demands to be commemorated.”

The female failed to quite grasp what he was talking about.

The male raised his glass.

“I wish to make a toast.”

She nearly scrambled to retrieve her goblet, which was already filled. Her heartbeat accelerated dramatically as she rushed to take hold of the crystal chalice (it was good that it was not filled to the brim, else her shaking hands would have definitely spilled the beverage).

“A very memorable period is embracing my Realm and it has been in motion for quite some time now. Unlike in your world--” the King was referring to Asgard, for that was what she considered to be her home “--a Solstice in Jotunheim occurs not each year but each millennium, and it also lasts for more than the meager count of a day and night combined.”

She listened transfixed to these weird facts he uttered languidly. Even under these circumstances it seemed that learning was just as fascinating.

“The apogee of the Winter Solstice is still some time in coming. However today – the first phase of it had ended. I wish to toast to this extraordinary event. And so, to the Winter Solstice.”

As protocol demanded – the Asynjur repeated the toast.

“To the Winter Solstice.”

The Ice Jotunn downed the whole glass in one go, while she barely sipped hers. 

If this was really the reason he had invited her, or more accurately the pretext he’d used to get some sort of Asgard-related information from her, then it was safe to inquire about Jotunheim’s Winter Solstice.

“Is it celebrated widely, I-I mean whether it is a tradition and has nothing to do with the nature of the realm itself?”

“No, it is not just a tradition. I cannot say how widely the Winter Solstice is celebrated however. My people by nature are very independent creatures, therefore renowned customs are quite inexistent. Certainly there are some which individuals or groups follow, although nothing is truly a mandatory tradition. I am sure that, to an extent, unique customs can be associated with Asgardian families as well, no?”

“Yes, that is true, my Lord” Sigyn confirmed. However she was quite sure that it hadn’t really been a question, more like an attempt at making polite conversation (the way the Giant nodded to her answer only confirmed that).

“However Jotnar are much more ascetic than Aesir, although in a somewhat hedonistic way. To illustrate the difference better – I shall elaborate. Some are so independent that they choose to lead a lonely existence, often far away from any communes. Even, for example, the members of a clan are not required to live or spend a great deal of time in a place the clan deems as their own. A member does not necessarily sever all ties with their family or clan. Though it is also possible that all the members choose to live separately, as in – without the presence of their kin nearby. You could say that that would almost completely destroy the reason of being part of some commune, but that would be incorrect. Frequently a clan or such gather at a certain time at a certain location, those meetings can differ in frequency from commune to commune (they can occur each year, decade, century – longer or shorter spans of time).”

Something the Frost Jotunn had said sounded a bit more peculiar from the whole of his words. So after a curt, in actual time (but inwardly long) debate, the girl-woman decided to inquire. He seemed to have stopped for a second, so she used this pause to ask a question.

“A place that they _deem_ their own, my Lord?”

He chuckled lightly before answering.

“Yes, Lady Sigyn. You had heard me correctly. Such a thing as a lawful ownership of land does not exist in my World. Land is not sold nor is it bought, therefore if someone occupies it – it is, in a way, theirs. However relocations are frequent to be greeted and so rarely do certain pieces of land ‘belong’ to someone for very long periods of time. Consequentially land means nothing in Jotunheim, it cannot bring any gain – as it would if it could be or would be sold.  It can be said that I, as King, own Jotunheim – but it is not for that reason that land is neither traded nor sold. Perhaps if my Realm would have regions that would be vastly superior to one another – perhaps then feuds could occur. Animal-life and plant-life are in similar amounts throughout the Ice Realm, therefore there is nothing to be gained by taking over a piece of land already occupied by another. Furthermore, most live in transportable accommodations, even those who do not wish to ever move someplace else; what I meant to say by that – is that Frost Jotnar do not build immovable domes and they also do not inhabit such.”

“But there are public places, are there not?” she asked, interest evident in her tone.

“No, not really. You see, my Lady, there is not even a need of lodgings for my people. Due to our nature, there are few places where inhabiting Jotunheim without a shelter could possibly be hazardous for a Jotunn. If there are any matters that require to be settled – they are brought to me. Therefore there are no public places, for example – a court-place or the like. There is not even a marketplace in this World” he fluidly explained.

Shocked, the Goddess-not-really-Goddess inquired, her inquiries were difficult to contain.

“Then how do your people attain things, if there is not a market?”

“Ah, well sustenance, which is necessary for survival can be hunted or gathered. As for any other kinds of things, then they can be traded or a deal can be made to acquire a certain item. Jotnar are not truly creatures who take much interest in possession, I guess that depends on the individual though. It is possible that if one wishes to acquire something from the Palace that they would make a request or something of the sort. However I have never had such in my time of ruling.”

“That is so peculiar... Without marketplaces and without settled communes, how could have such a dome as the Winter Palace be even built...” the mixed-blood Vanir uttered, more to herself than to the Ruler, as she leaned back into her chair.

“Perhaps my answer had not been very accurate.”

She perked up at the young man’s words, her spring-green eyes wide and softly demanding an explanation.

“I cannot be certain that marketplaces or less scattered communes had not been part of Jotunheim prior. Your line of thinking is compliant to logic, therefore a larger count of Jotnar should have lived near the Palaces, as well as had professions or something of the sort. And there are ruins in my land, which hint at some kind of buildings – and those could not have been castles of Monarchs – for there had always been two: the Winter Palace and the Summer Palace. Alas they are much too demolished, so it is not possible to tell what those remains of buildings had been. And I have never seen any of them intact. Also there is little documentation left concerning the topic.”

The young woman’s eyes went wider (if that was even possible). The Princeling noticed and his sanguine orbs shone in obvious entertainment, with a smirk he continued.

“You forget, Lady Sigyn, my Realm had been devastated by war. A war of such magnitude that just crumbling pieces of architecture and craters as such left by meteorite strikes – remain. The Summer Palace itself is uninhabitable, a part of it is still intact – but it is far from something that could truly be used as it had been intended. And so, as I have said, my answers may not have been entirely correct – if we are talking about what had been in the past, and not about what is now.”

The female swallowed back the accumulated saliva. She was ashamed that she had forgotten that (given, she had known very little of the Aesir-Jotunn wars, therefore she could not have correctly evaluated the damage that had been inflicted to the Cold World) and she was saddened. It did not matter what was said about Jotunns in Realm Eternal, she still did not think that next generations should suffer from something that they had not had any power over. Wars were meaningless and such meaningless destruction grieved her greatly. The untitled Lady was about to apologize, when the Frost Giant Leader began speaking anew.

“But I have digressed. You had asked me about the natural processes of a Winter Solstice in Jotunheim. This period does have its effect on the nature of the Realm, as well as astrological happenings associated to the common understanding of a Solstice. The nature changes are thus – a great deal of animals begin hibernating during this time (and just at this period, which occurs every millennia; animals of Jotunheim do not hibernate aside from that), the temperature gradually begins to drop lower. The days grow shorter, the nights – longer, also the skies seem to rip at random intervals and the tears become dyed in magnificent electric blues. Now as for astrological occurrences: full lunar eclipses rise in frequency, later partial solar eclipses begin occurring. During the culmination of the Winter Solstice mainly two things take place – a full solar eclipse occurs, which lasts twenty-six hours and after it, on the longest night when nighttime falls – the stars visible on the heavens are not of the past but appear as they truly are (the fallen no longer shine, only the ones that still burn remain in their places).”

It sounded like a very strange and enchanting occurrence – the Winter Solstice of the Ice Realm, alas it also sounded somehow... dangerous. But she quickly shook the thought away – the creatures of ice were surely adapted to these changes or knew how to live through them. And it was not like any representatives of other races ventured into this world (not counting the fact that she and the Aesir warriors were here – since they were captives and not unfortunate wanderers).

“It sounds amazing” the healer said breathlessly.

“It is” the Jotunn King agreed.          

“I think it is time for us to actually dine, Lady Sigyn” he said.

* * *

 

The food was brought and the conversation did not stay idle for long. The Ice Giant did not restrain his silver tongue, domineering their conversation with fluent ease. And while the Vanir was not quite as sociable as he, she still talked and her questions (born from her untamable curiosity) were not few.

His tales were riveting, so bewitching that the listener could nether be bored nor even become distracted for a moment. And yet the Asynjur did not forget who exactly was speaking so wonderfully, how dangerous and cunning that highborn creature of ice was. Something, something about how he spoke or maybe what he said (she couldn’t tell exactly what) had triggered a memory in her. Her subconscious made a connection between the Ruler of Jotunns and a myth persona, a legend or perhaps an archetype of characters – which may have been created from a certain person, but as time went by – they became monikers to any being devious enough.

She remembered tales that were told in Asgard – all vague and murky, therefore most likely mere fables. In Realm Eternal there were legends about a deviant (or deviants), who tricked people and was an Aesir to be wary of. Most often described as a tall, pale man with hair of a raven’s wing and mesmerizing green eyes, dressed in matched envy-green. They called the man by various titles: the God of Mischief, the God of Lies and Deceit, the God of Magic, The God of _Chaos_ and of course the famous name of _Silver Tongue_.

However Asgard was not the only realm of the Nine that had conspiratory whispers or loud, drunken tales surrounding such mysterious and mischievous creatures. She knew a few more and she wasn’t aware of how many more they were.

In Svartalfheim Sigyn had heard of a flame-haired _Liye_ _Smith_ (and the way the Dverger pronounced ‘lie’ was with a dragging sound – making the ‘i’ turn into a ‘y’), who through lies and deceit had tricked many smiths and even Dwarf Kings of their precious treasures. The physical description that followed the ‘Liye Smith’ was reminiscent of either an Aesir’s or a Vanir’s. In Alfheim there were myths concerning a nameless Fae Trickster – a dark haired Fae creature of some kind, akin to Elves but yet not one; those legends told of various tricks and trickery (sometimes innocent as that of Faeries and sometimes of much more sinister deeds). There were also myths to be found concerning a similar trickster in Midgard. Where the descriptions varied and due to the difference in languages of the Midgardians – the name did too, most commonly it was Lopt or Loke.

What the young Lady did not know though – was that all of those legends were not blatant lies or twisted mistruths – for every one of those personas were real and belonged to _one man_. The man who was sitting opposite her, swirling a crystalline glass between his long, spidery fingers. And both of the Primal Worlds – Niflheim and Muspellheim – called that cunning (Frost) Jotunn as _Loki_.

* * *

The subject strayed to literature – a topic both were keen on. The crowned Prince inquired whether she was enjoying his library. If he had not known of her frequent visits and if the restrained enthusiasm she had shown prior would have slipped past his sight – even then her confirmation would not have taken him by surprise.

The girl made a comment he found particularly witty, with a rick chuckle the Lord noted.

“You are a very intelligent woman, my Lady. Any man would be lucky to call you his.”

She did not know how to respond to that (she did not even know whether his words were genuine, it was difficult to tell – they were just so silverine), therefore she simply remained silent.

He seemed to misinterpret her silence, if the words that followed were anything to go by.

“I apologize, I have forgotten myself. You have fallen into this situation unwillingly and unknowingly – and here I am talking about loved ones. That was unforgivably rude of me.”

The healer was at a loss of words again. He sounded honest although she was far too confused to even guess whether that honestly was true. It was simply too difficult to tell when speaking with someone who appeared to have such a tight control over words.

“You must miss them terribly” he uttered. The male did not seem expectant of her forgiveness and was simply commenting idly.

She could neither agree nor disagree, for she was unsure what kind of person (or persons – because she still did not have a solid grasp on Jotunheim’s culture to know whether polygamy was acceptable in the Realm of Frost) he was suggesting that she was missing. To be completely truthful, she had not even thought of Theoric during her (lavish) imprisonment. Her impending marriage had barely even grazed her conscious and she had definitely not thought of her fiancé in any personal sense (she did not even know the man enough to think of him as a person, rather than just what he was supposed to be to her).

Alas, in the general understanding of ‘loved ones’, the woman did have to admit that she missed her family somewhat. However she did not know the proper way to answer the Giant’s statement. She opted to stay quiet, instead finding her skirt fiddling fingers to be much more interesting than the intense red gaze of the royal she sat in front of.

The Realm King tilted his head as he observed the snow white dressed Dverger/Vanir Princess. Her disability to say something could have many causes, however he was leaning towards the explanation that her stricken expression was not born of grief or terrible melancholy – roused by his (deliberately) ill phrase. He inquired something which he found most intriguing and the question was carefully led by his gift over the spoken word.

“Are you married, my Lady?”

The half-blood female did not raise her spring-green orbs to meet the crimson ones of the Jotunn. She answered while still playing with the fabric of her gown.

“No, I am betrothed, my Lord.”

He swirled the wine in his glass contemplatively. Her answer was curt and factual, too apathetic to be considered an enthusiastically awaiting bride’s response (and that was playing out oh so nicely for him).

“Forgive my lack of proper etiquette, I just cannot help but notice that you do not sound very joyful for that matter.”

At the powerful Frost Giant’s words her eyes shot up straight to meet his visage, which appeared casual despite the private subject (and maybe he did not find it inappropriate to ask; he did apologize, but perhaps in his world such topics were not considered too personal to discuss over dinner).

There was no sense in lying (the untitled Goddess was not used to doing so anyway) and there was no possibility that answering the question truthfully could harm Realm Eternal. And where would be the sense in giving him a mistruth, especially when he had registered her emotional palette concerning the issue. Therefore she replied honestly, although meeting his attentive gaze was too much. Her empty dessert plate was so much more interesting anyway.

“I-It was an arranged betrothal. I do not know him well.”

He hummed as he seemed to ponder her words. Taking a sip of his drink he replied.

“I have momentarily forgotten that you are from Asgard, Lady Sigyn.”

What the Ice Jotunn said was puzzling and there also might have been a hint of mockery in how he said it (but she was too distracted to register it properly).

“Are there not any arranged marriages in Jotunheim, my Lord?”

“No, there are not. However there are no marriages or at least not how you understand them. What we have here is less ceremonial and can be more an agreement than a vow-bound union. Yes, my people can select mates for life – and spend eons apart from one another” he paused to take a drink and resumed with his elaboration afterwards “A ‘marriage’ can occur for alliance, but more often than not – that is consequential and not the reason behind a union. The Jotnar do not force their daughters or sons to ‘marry’ someone; perhaps to us that is irrelevant because alliances can be formed by various other means. And that of course makes ‘marriage’ nowhere near the best method to join clans or bring closer families.”  

The young woman anticipated the man to continue talking. He had a vast amount of charisma and what he told (although the speeches could be lengthy) was extremely captivating, even then when the theme was not something she would generally find interesting. However he did not continue explaining, nor did he choose a different subject, instead he asked her a question.

“So, do you find this... arrangement to your liking?”

Her positive mood (if the situation would not be taken into consideration) lessened due to his inquiry. The subject he touched once more was not a happy one. Somewhere deep it was buried and it was hurtful – and the icy Monarch just kept on digging into it.

The untitled Goddess answered the way she was supposed to and in turn avoided the question entirely.

“Theoric is a good man. A Crimson Hawk--”

“One of Odin’s elite soldiers” he said absentmindedly to himself.

She did not catch his slip-up (for the Allfather had established the Crimson Hawks long after the Aesir-Jotunn wars, therefore there was no possible way for the Frost Giant Ruler to know this from whatever written sources that were available in his possession) and simply continued with explaining ‘her’ reasoning.

“--I have no doubt that he can provide more than is necessary to a family and he is also a beneficial to our World, and--”

He raised his palm to order her to cease talking and so she fell silent. She did not assume that her mentioning their World – Asgard, had made the Jotunn Leader will her to be quiet. He did not seem upset or angered, perhaps irritated but not upset. 

“That was not what I had asked. I had inquired whether _you_ found the arranged marriage to your liking. You do not need to say what would be expected of you in _your world_. You forget Lady Sigyn – this is not Asgard, this is Jotunheim. Your answer – whether in agreement or in disagreement, shall not change my opinion of you. You must understand, to me – arranged marriages is a completely foreign matter. Therefore it is not possible that I would have an opinion concerning it.”

“I-I... I-I-I” Sigyn tried to respond to his initial question (and it was only right, for he was a man of higher station than she), however all she managed was to stutter terribly. Her attempt at speaking was too incoherent for anyone to understand (including herself). She was unsettled by her disability to form any tangible words, she was frustrated and her eyes were full of unshed tears.

The male intervened.

“Should I take your lack of response as lack of interest in the arrangement?” it was not really necessary to even ask that, for both beings present understood full well what she could not say.

The girl tried to steady her breathing and gather herself; she was insulting the King with her inability to form a fluent sentence.

“I--” she swallowed thickly “I do not wish to be m-married” was her stuttering reply.

“Alas you have no other choice” he concluded. His confirmation of what she had already known sounded to her nearly like an order for her execution, she nearly burst into tears at that.

“Have you tried to avoid the marriage?” Prince Loki inquired.

“T-there i-is not a way for me to d-do that” she responded.

While the only betrayer were her knife-minced words – it was still obvious to such a masterful manipulator that she was close to breaking down.

The female was drowning in waves of emotion. She was trying to rein herself in – and consequentially was too distracted to see the royal Ice Giant move. She was careless of her empty glass (she had actually managed to finish it), however he was not. And so he quietly rose from his seat and took a decanter, with the intention of filling the goblet of crystal.

The Asynjur only realized his proximity when he was already refilling the container with liquid. As he did so he inquired.

“Are you certain that there is no way for you to escape the marriage?”

“Y-Yes” she nearly tearfully hiccupped the words. Her tangible and thick like miasma despair, which had appeared seemingly out of nowhere (but in reality had been there all along) – began smothering her.

She was still too out of herself to notice him place down the decanter on the table. She only reacted when his long, blue finger carefully tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his skin briefly touching hers. She nearly flinched from the shock of his touch.

“If I can see ways out of that unfortunate arrangement, then so can you, _my_ intelligent little Lady. You are simply not thinking _creatively_ enough” his words seemed as if they were purred and she did not absorb them or his intonation well. His startling touch still lingering in her mind – and he was aware of that.

The healer’s hand lied on the table and he abused its vulnerable state, his digits tracing the skin of her forearm ever so lightly. Her exhale became a soundless gasp and her skin broke out in gooseflesh. The blue on pallid white was mesmerizing enough – but that was not the exact focus of her psyche. His touch was cold, however it did not feel as though someone was manipulating an ice cube over her flesh. But what was most important – was that her skin wasn’t disintegrating from unspeakable cold, while the contact was not pleasant due to difference in temperature, still it was not burning her, it was not hurting her.

“Do you find it peculiar?” his quiet question rung a bit uselessly where it concerned her ability to respond. The Goddess-not-really-Goddess could not tear her orbs away from his fingers idly tracing abstract swirls on her flesh. The touch was ghosting about – very minimal. Her mouth hung slightly open, lower lip unconsciously twitching with unsaid words. 

He retracted his hand and went on to explain this oddity, a smirk tainting his features. Her eyes rose to hesitantly meet his, confusion danced in her green eyes (for the moment his closeness was irrelevant, because this scary and admirable persona had touched her – and she hadn’t suffered from it).

“You have forgotten what I have said, _Sigyn_. Jotnar can appreciate the warmth of a fire and we are not harmed by being close to heat. We can also survive Jotunheim – a Realm that can at times or in places be much, much more colder than what you have sensed when you stepped into my lands. We can only do so by regulating the temperature of our bodies. If we would not have such an ability – we could not possibly endure such changes in climate.”

The Frost Jotunn did not wait for her to speak and simply turned back and walked to his seat. She had not registered that he had used her name without a title accompanying it, which was not very odd considering that she was used to being addressed in such a manner.

What he had told her explained a lot and it was very interesting information (however she was too much out of herself to evaluate it properly). Still she was too shocked by how close the royal man had been and by the fact that he had actually _touched_ her. Her form shuddered involuntarily.

* * *

 

The subject of arranged marriages was not mentioned again. The conversation flowed freely, however it was a bit toned down – seemingly the participant whom the previous subject touched could not return to ‘normalcy’ afterwards, not that the royalty of the Cold World appeared to be bothered by that. He was most satisfied with his findings – which would work so well for his plot.

The dinner did not last long after that. Soon the two conversants bid their goodnights and the female left for her designated room, whilst the Leader remained. He swirled the liquid within the crystalline goblet he had in his hand – feeling immensely satisfied with himself. But he was through with games – he had no more time for them, if he wished to win. Loki had to catch his dainty _Lady Luck_ without further ado. If time would not be of essence, then he could sway the _Victorious Girlfriend_ in a fashion that would be much more his – alas that was not the case. He would have to make do with what he had (when there was so much _more_ to be had), this would not be, even by the least bit, worse because he would take less time to grasp what he desired. His haste was for the reason that soon he would deal with his primary goal, therefore his secondary one would have to be secured prior that.

The King of Jotunheim smiled to himself, he was looking forward to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hair change after marriage – Sigyn mentioning that she would not be able to wear her hair unbound for long is an allusion to her impending marriage to Theoric. The changes in hair styles after marriage could be observed in a lot of places in the past (these changes vary of course from region to region; this was also a tradition in the Norse lands) – for a married woman cannot wear her hair the same way as she had when she was a careless maiden.
> 
> Greek terms – don't mind the Greek terms; it would be simply too difficult to write a story about creatures from another ream without using extremely Midgardian terms (and I am much more guilty of Greek, Greek mythology to be precise, references in Prophecies anyways).
> 
> Scientific accuracy – concerning various planetary, astrological and etc. 'facts' on Jotunheim written here – do not search for it, you shall not find it. It is so because I write whatever I want without clinging and furiously researching various materials; inaccuracies are partially deliberate and partially there because I am a bastard that just doesn't give a damn.
> 
> Victorious Girlfriend – is the meaning of Sigyn's name; his Lady Luck is also Loki referencing to that.


	15. The wisest god of all – the most powerless of them all

**Chapter fifteen**

**_The wisest god of all – the most powerless of them all_ **

The Allfather stood on the highest and grandest terrace of Gladsheim, gazing at the brightly burning lights of Asgard below. He had Gungnir in his grasp and his hands shook, although if it were from despair or from rage – he could not tell. Time was menacingly trickling by, days passing with a vivid foreboding. And it was not the first evening that he stood overlooking the city. He knew full well that Asgard could not be kept in the dark about the disappearance of their beloved Golden Prince, the God of Thunder – for long...

Each day he spent restless, each night – sleepless. Although he felt the long delayed Odinsleep creeping closer with every second – he could not will himself to spend a moment resting.

Heimdall was not released from his duty, now solely concentrated on watching the small part of Cosmos where Jotunheim _had been_. And the High God was certain that the unrelenting focus directed onto that tiny fraction of the Universe exhausted even the mighty Guardian of the Bifrost. However no reprieve could be given at this time of crisis.

The only thing that reassured the Odinfather and gave him hope was the fact that while Heimdall could not see the Ice Realm, clear indicators of its existence still remained. There where that world had been – did not gape a great Black Hole devouring everything in its wake. No, there was simply a dark spot, void of any celestial bodies. However that darkness did not correlate with the Cosmos in any abnormal ways – signifying that Jotunheim was not destroyed, it was _hidden_.

Odin regretted his decisions, made when he had not yet received his title – before he’d become the Wisest God of All. He had been shortsighted a millennium or so ago, back when he had fought the war between his people and the Jotunns. Then he had thought that his actions – his _victory_ – had truly disarmed the Cold World. But now it was painfully obvious that he had been _wrong_. He had disrupted the rulership, taken away the very strength of the realm and his armies had laid it to ruin – alas that was not enough. With the very first of his doings – with that he had assumed that nearly all of the magics of Jotunheim had perished; with the second – that the very power of that world would be inaccessible to them. However it had not been enough to leave the Frost Giants powerless. He should have made sure that every bit of arcane knowledge had died... But at that time, when he’d stood knee-deep in Jotunn blood and counted hundreds of thousands of his own men lost – he had not the patience necessary to completely annihilate that wretched part of that forgotten culture.

It was beyond even his abilities to know exactly how all of this was done, however at the moment that was far from being his main concern. Perhaps it had taken _that_ King this long to find a shaman or someone else knowledgeable enough on such a great feat as shrouding a whole planet from the gaze of any all-seeing eyes, or perhaps he had had the knowledge all along and it had required these years to perfect it...

As for secret passageways between worlds – the Allfather had long since known about the existence of such. Before the Rainbow Bridge had been built, the branches of Yggdrasill were still connected. But the Bifrost had come before his reign and so very few had remained who knew of other paths between realms – he had been sure that none had, or at least none with any use or power to abuse such. Apparently though, such individuals still remained in _those_ desolate lands.

All he needed was a short window of opportunity, that was all that he needed. It was one of the reasons why he stood here waiting, waiting for a guard to run to him announcing that finally Heimdall had managed to see that realm again (for even if they were aware of its existence, without proper visuals – the Guard of the Rainbow Bridge could not safely transport anyone there). No matter how potent the spell or enchantment, or whatever it was that hid Jotunheim so utterly (for it had to require massive power to uphold) – would not last forever. It had to reappear for a moment – and then he would strike. The King of Realm Eternal already had his armies readied, waiting for a chance to attack. Alas where it concerned Thor – it might all be for naught...

His poor, poor, foolish boy... He had marched into hostile enemy territory so unprepared and no matter how great the Storm God’s strength was – it would not last against the vast numbers of those abominable creatures. And _Laufey_ that monstrous Monarch, so filled with hatred – there was no way of knowing what terrible fate he had orchestrated for the Golden Boy.

While the existence of the Realm of Frost was valid, there was still no possibility of knowing whether the Golden Throne’s Heir was still alive... The Odinfather inwardly raged – he should have made certain of _that_ Jotunn’s demise and not left it with any possibility of a continued life! He should have obliterated any chances that the Cold World had of retaliation! Alas, he had not...

If it would only save his child from death, his hand would not tremble nor would his voice – when he would order the annihilation of the Heim of Jotunns. What history had taught him still held true – sometimes irreversible destruction was a necessity to ascertain the Ash Tree’s safety. And it had been done before, prior his time – the violent race of the Dark Elves had been destroyed by the forces of Realm Eternal. Now the Dark Fields, the Dark Dwelling – Nidavellir, stood as an empty and barren land in Svartalfheim – a clear testament to the bloody wars that had taken place several millions of years ago. If it was necessary (for Thor’s safety or that his... _demise_ would not befall others) Jotunheim would meet the same fate, and the Aesir Ruler would feel no remorse for that.

However his idling in the gold-dyed terrace was only partially because he was waiting for a guard to bring him good news. There was also a second reason why he did not wish to return to his bedchambers. This reason had stayed with him from the moment his son’s disappearance had become absolute. The God could not turn back to his quarters – and not because rest was unlikely to be found, but because Frigga was there.

His wise, tender Queen had always been calm and reserved. No matter the ill news that he carried – she always weathered them with strength to be envied. Alas this constant had been broken, heartbreakingly so. For all the millennia he had spent with his wife, her husband had never witnessed any turbulent emotions or opinions arise in her; she had always been a pillar of strength and support – in some ways even more durable than the Allfather himself. But oh did his pillar crack, did the magnificent marble of his beautiful beloved shatter – her reaction to the Crown Prince’s disappearance was indescribable... He had never expected such from his High Goddess, who always soothed him like the most blessed of balms.

Frigga had wailed and wailed, slinking down to the ground and uselessly clenching the fabric of the curtains between her lithe fingers. She had screamed and sobbed for their son, she pleaded, begged and even _demanded_ him to bring back their child. Their _only_ child, their _precious_ child...

Her composure was lost and she had not left their shared rooms since (not that Odin had bade her to, he was not heartless enough to force her to uphold a deceitful, calm façade for Asgard’s sake). Her state constantly wavered – sometimes her grief was as tumultuous as the thunders their boy could command and sometimes her despair was utterly silent. But no matter whether it was the high-tide or the low-tide of her grieving – she still cried. The Queen of Realm Eternal shed tears more often than not and the King could not stand this uncharacteristic behavior. He did not wish to face the possible reality of what could have happened to the young Princeling.

He quelled his wife with promise upon promise. Reassuring her that Thor was fine, and he would soon bring their son home. However his words (and they might as well be empty, when he was so _powerless_ to change the situation, to retrieve the Godling) were not always sufficient enough to even slightly lull her. Through sobs the Goddess would demand for her baby, she would say over and over again that she wanted her baby. And all the all-powerful Allfather could feel then – was immeasurable, indescribable powerlessness.

But he could not delay to return to her ‘till dawn’s light. The elder God had done so yesterday and the day before that, and the day before that... Idling the night away would not aid in anyway, it would only cause his dearest Frigga all the more worry. Therefore the Leader of the Asgardians decided to return to his chambers. He steeled himself for the haggard visage of his wife: her pallid skin with lines etched by worry and grief, her tear-streaked face-paint and bloodshot eyes, her tousled hair and crumpled golden gown.

The God of Wisdom readied himself to holding his crying wife to sleep, to attentively listening until those quiet sobs would be won-over by exhaustion and replaced by shuddering, slumbering breaths. When he did not stand overlooking Asgard and when he did not sit in his Throne in the empty hall – he spent his nights embracing his sobbing Queen until she fell asleep. And afterwards he would spend his time ‘till morn’ in bed, beside her dreaming form – thinking, planning, calculating, assessing, evaluating and lingering. There was nothing else that he could do, for he was sleepless and a solution had to be reached to return Yggdrasill’s protector where he belonged. The pathways between the worlds had to be sealed – and then once more would Realm Eternal be there to protect the realms from each other as well as from themselves.

* * *

 

The Allfather would be left unaware when days later the Ice Realm would flicker back into view. The Guardian of the Bifrost would notice, however the time of sight would be no more than a fraction of a second – and after – the Cold World would return to its state of darkness. And although nothing could be done – still it would mean something. The moment Jotunheim would fade away, Heimdall would notice if something foreign were to reach Asgard.

A small parcel would tauntingly and mysteriously come to lie on the Rainbow Bridge itself...    


	16. No longer wrapping words in silken shawls

**Chapter sixteen**

**_No longer wrapping words in silken shawls_ **

 

 

The second day was passing since Sigyn had dined with the Jotunn King. And as for how much time had passed since they had been captured... well, there were far too many days to think about (or to count). Her mood was good – as good as it could be, especially considering that yesterday she had experienced a lengthy panic attack. Reality had become too overbearing and too vivid, and the lack of knowledge of the Asgardian warriors had taunted and jeered at her – inspiring all sorts of terrifying scenarios. So she used a distraction technique (books), which seemed to work well enough, although it had been insufficient the day before.

The half-blood Vanir had spent the first portion of the day in the icy librarium of the Winter Palace and now was heading back to the purple-violet room. She had stayed in the library until it had turned a bit too eerie to withstand, not the library itself mind you (for libraries were not eerie, they were lovely), but the situation and her location had become a bit too realistic and frightening to bear. Therefore she had left that magnificent keeper of written word, but not without a tome. The book she carried was from Svartalfheim on herbalism (and who said that a method of distracting oneself could not be beneficial, it could be based on learning – and the knowledge of herbs that tome held within could be very useful in her trade as a healer).

The girl quietly closed the door of the chamber. Almost immediately an object that had not been there before caught her sight. It was a piece of parchment, which lied too innocently on the neatly made bed. She placed the book on one of the twin nightstands and approached the note, this time doing so less cautiously than she had the two times before. However her mind was not focused enough to notice whether something was amiss, but her subconscious told her that there was something _different_. And different was bad, different was unknown, different could be _dangerous_...

When she was close enough to take the thin, white thing in hand (the beautiful penmanship was already familiar) – she became aware of what was truly amiss. The letter was alone, no shiny parcel had come with it this time. And that was enough of a novelty to send the young woman into a barely controlled frenzy. No matter how difficult and how scary the shared dinners with the Ruler of Jotunheim had been – they still, in a way, were familiar; they had some kind of order to them. Alas already this small, seemingly irrelevant detail spoke of pure _chaos_.

The content of the note was curt, however that was where the similarity ended. It began the same way as the other two had, with “ _Lady Sigyn_ ”. The next written words though sent her frantic, sprinting heart to her heels – “ _Please meet me in the Throne Room_ ”. And it ended as always – “ _King Loki_ ”.

The lack of a package containing what she would need to wear signified that this would not be any ordinary (like they were actually ordinary, not in any way where they _that_ ) meeting. It would not be for idle chatting (like it had been just a few days ago), however intellectually stimulating (and frightening) that was – now he was requesting ( _ordering_ ) her presence. There could be no other reason than the Leader of Frost Giants wanting to tell her something, something most possibly important (and hopefully, hopefully nothing ill where she and her Aesir friends were concerned), something that could not wait (or be shared at _dinner_ ).

There was no time given, no hour at which she should arrive. That probably meant that she would have to go as soon as she had read the ‘invitation’. Another wave of anxiety and dread rushed to wash her with ground-shaking force – how long had she been in the library, how long had the Prince waited for her? She could not answer such a question for she did not know when the letter had appeared on the bed. The healer was feeling nauseous and weak.

What was more, was that she did not know where the Throne Room was. Although when a minute had passed (which she had spent wracking her poor, overstrained psyche on how to deal with this) the female came to the conclusion that the Monarch had to be aware of that. So in some way (for example with the use of the torches, like it had happened both times prior) she would be led to that hall.

There was no time to waste (although oh, how she wanted to just hide away in a corner and read herself into forgetfulness of where she had to go and what she had to hear), with a measured step she went to the door. Not a second more than necessary should be wasted and by the lack of any boxes within boxes – it was clear that she was to go as she was (it was not like she was going to dine with the powerful Ice Giant, therefore no scandalous, evening garb was required). Maybe she would meet the warriors and her Prince, maybe soon this nightmare (buried in luxury) would be over...

By the door, on an intricate wrought-metal coatrack (which had definitely been empty when she had left the chamber) hung the very coat she had entered the Cold World in. The girl-woman had forgotten all about it, it had been left with her satchel in the room the Asgardians last were. She did not think much about how that article of clothing had gotten there, it was doubtful that it had been placed there without reason.

Although this chamber and the corridor beyond it were definitely quite warm, the untitled Lady still put it over her gown. She hadn’t the slightest where the Throne Room was. However she did have vague memories (of the time of their actual capture) of the ice-covered interior somewhere in this fortress. It was plausible that where she needed to go would be much, much colder than this part of the grand castle.

Her hand was shaking slightly as she turned the handle. Some of the torches were burning, others were not. Alas, despite the fact that her path was clear, the venture the Vanir had to make was not beckoning to her...

* * *

 

Loki had spent quite some time in the Throne Room, waiting for the Lady to arrive. This wait was not bothersome for he had been well aware of where Sigyn had been and he had taken no action to inform her sooner.

Things were progressing smoothly. Soon he would make his first move, but before that he had to secure his delicious secondary goal...

The crowned Prince sat in the Throne. It was an ornate piece, huge and imposing, asymmetrical and fashioned out of beautifully wrought metal. Despite the large size of the seat of power – he occupied it well, it did not seem as though it was too large for his small (Giant-wise) frame. He sat in it commandingly, forcing compliance from any creature that would stand below him – not necessarily the impression he wished to make now. He could easily adopt a certain pose and use his body-language to conflict with a lulling, unthreatening manner of speaking – and vice versa; such feats were not difficult to him.

The Throne – his birthright, he did not wish to replace it with another, with a new one made specifically for him. The Frost Jotunn kept this Throne because it was a symbol of his heritage and it had memories, and even signs of the previous owners. The right armrest was slightly worn and it held the most miniscule, easily unnoticeable dent – it made a corner of his lips curl upwards (although outwardly it was more of a twitch than a smirk or a smile). That mark could not have been made by an arm, no, this mark had been made by legs. It was clear to him that this was a position the _rightful_ owner had often been in, when she had sat in this seat. The Queen had used the left armrest to rest her back against and had placed her legs on the right, taking a peculiar and confident pose. Although some would definitely find it to be one from which commanding was impossible – the royal Ice Giant knew better. His mother had to have been an impressive woman, therefore he had no doubt that she could be imposing even in such an eccentric manner of sitting in a seat of power. He would have no trouble lounging on the Throne like that and although he found nothing wrong with the flamboyancy of it – it was best to sit in a way that Asgardian minds would recognize as kingly.

The young man respected the deceased Ruler greatly. He had not known her, but her legacy that had survived – was more than admirable. Her library and the many things that could be found throughout the Winter Palace, especially her study (which was filled with all sorts of magical artifacts and other similar things) – all of those spoke of the Queen’s great intellect. However the various journals she had kept, which contained her knowledge, theories and studies of the dark arcane arts, also those housing other subjects – were what made him respect her so greatly. Often creatures created a halo-effect around the people they admired (deceased or otherwise), but this was not the case for the royal male. He hadn’t created a face, a voice or a character to cling onto; he revered her based on what he knew as fact, he did not do anything to make his predecessor less ethereal.

Other signs were also to be found on the Throne as well. There were dents from fingers on the edges of the armrests, marks he could not fill – they belonged to the previous King. But that was not all, for there were scratches of nails on them as well – and these he could mimic without trouble. The Jotunn traced one of the grooves lightly; there were not many of them – indicating that they were not made out of a habit of clawing. He briefly wondered whether their origin was the same as the marks his father had left – born from anger and rage. Perhaps it had been done for other reasons, he could only guess.

The Frost Giant leaned into the backrest. He strongly inhaled and slowly exhaled – enjoying the bitter cold that lingered in the hall. Ice and marble and dark metals gleamed in his sight. He allowed himself another moment to revel in the beauty of the Throne Room, but just a moment, no more – for the little Goddess was going to be here soon. 

* * *

 

The Leader of the Jotnar did not need to make any gestures to will the humongous doors to open themselves. And they were gargantuan indeed, they extended almost all the way to the ceiling, and if not for their width – then the unnamed pet of his that the Thunderer had slain would have definitely managed to pass through, with air left in fact. Perhaps at the age of the Great Jotunn Empire there had been guards stationed there – to serve as doorkeepers, but it was not so during the previous or the current King’s rule. Many of the Giants had perished during the wars and the Empire had shattered so very early ( _too_ early), therefore there was no point in having his people guard the doors to the Throne Room of a shattered, fallen dome.

The tiny woman entered cautiously, although he doubted that the doors opening by themselves – was the reason of her skittishness. She clutched the coat she wore to her preciously, it was very cold indeed. She approached slowly.

He acknowledged the Princess only when she stood directly below his Throne. This time he did not stand in greeting – like he’d done when they had dined.

“Lady Sigyn” his voice was empty but gave her the respect she deserved.

“Your M-Majesty” she returned the greeting, her words fractured and unsteady. She did not use the title he had told he preferred, and he thought that it was his posture and the changed surrounding that forced her to reconsider her way of addressing him – although he really did not care.

The girl-woman was shaking like a leaf and he was sure that it was only partially because of the temperature that lingered here. He spent a moment merely admiring her. The Throne Room was not overly bright and the light it was lit with did not flicker – for it was not torchlight. The many ice crystals that jutted from the ground, walls and ceilings were actually placed in a manner that would use most sufficiently the scarce light of Jotunheim’s sun-star. Everything glimmered, as did the bewitching young Goddess in front of him.

“I have called you here on an important matter” he did not make any lengthy pauses and got straight to the point. It was best to get this part over with swiftly and coldly.

His back was ramrod stiff and his perfect posture on the Throne was as icy as his very nature. The girl was growing more frightened by the second – again, not necessarily the effect he wanted to create.

“Asgard does not appreciate you – as it should, however that is the nature of the Aesir – they are _blind_ to the treasures that they have. And Asgard _will not_ appreciate you, however Jotunheim can value you – as you deserve to be valued.”

The mixed-blood female was scared and confused by his words, but the Ruler did not give her enough time to ponder what he had said. His steady stream of words continued ever so evenly.

“I want to make you an offer” _an offer you cannot refuse_ – but he did not say that, although his tone was definitely descending into the realm of sinister (he was aware of that and the Trickster King did not do anything to change it).

While his sentences were slow, they were swift to arrive to their point. Silver-lined nonsense was not necessary, there was no need to wrap his words in silken shawls. He would get what he wanted, no matter the way he voiced himself, that was truly and utterly irrelevant – for Sigyn did not have a way to decline.

“I offer you to become _my_ _Queen_ , _the Queen of Jotunheim_ ” the dispassionately speaking Jotunn did not make any tempting promises, with which he could hope to bait her into accepting.

He knew that the little healer was loyal, far too loyal to Asgard. Given time, he would be able to find her Vanir pride and Dvergar greed – and use them to turn her gaze and consequentially future from the direction of Realm Eternal. But time he did not have, so he turned to the Asgardian ways (although similar methods were used in some other worlds as well) – however they were still permeated with his own wickedness. Similar but not similar enough to the thinking of the sinister-minded Aesir (and as much as that race prided themselves for their good will and intent – the owner of the Winter Palace and the lands of Jotunheim knew that overall, Asgardians were never the saints they painted themselves as).

Loki saw how the tremors in the Lady intensified. Her eyes grew wide and immensely frightened, her mouth was open in a silent gasp.

“I give you a day to decide. Tomorrow, at dinnertime – you shall give me your answer” his words sounded final, as though he was already letting her go. He only strengthened that impression by dismissing her in a roundabout way “I shan’t hold you from your reading any longer” he smiled nearly warmly as he said that.

* * *

 

In such a strong state of shock she could not do anything else but comply with the tender order to leave the Monarch’s presence. Her mind had almost fled and evacuated completely, therefore she slowly (and thankfully not unsteadily) spun on her heel to leave. Alas she did not manage to even make a step towards the great metal doors, when the voice of the Frost Giant rung again in the great acoustics of the hall. He sounded as twisted as when she had first heard his voice, somewhat playful, somewhat apathetic and irrevocably malicious.

“ _Ah but, Sigyn, bear in mind the state of your friends._ ”

The Asynjur was turned away from the seated Jotunn Prince so she could not see, but from the sound of his voice – it seemed as though the royal was grinning a maleficent grin (and he was). Despite the wreckage of her brain – so startled, so uncomprehending – it was still able to detect the subtle threat. The King was not making an offer – he gave her an _ultimatum_.

She forgot to follow proper etiquette and simply left the Throne Room, she did so with more haste than she had entered it. In reality, while her walk was forced to be even and not all that fast, she fled – uncaring, unthinking and drowning in dread and despair.

* * *

 

The Ice Giant watched the Vanir flee. She hadn’t uttered a word of goodbye – he did not mind that. He had rocked her world and then stolen it from beneath her feet. But wings she had – the Frost Jotunn knew, the only question was – was how long it would take her to find them. However he remembered how she had unwillingly spoken about the betrothal, which had occurred back in Asgard – she had tried to portray reluctance but all he had read was fear. And now he had only shifted a demon for a demon – there was not much of a gain and not much of a loss for her (and in her mind her current situation held the bigger negative), not much difference at all. But oh that was so, so wrong.

He was a Deceiver and a Trickster – but he hadn’t lied when he had said that the Ice Realm would appreciate her, while Realm Eternal – would not, _could_ not. Loki knew how much he could give her and nothing Asgard could offer would compare. It was not simply riches (although the Cold World was in no way poor; Odin had wanted to vanquish the Jotunn race – not steal the valuables it had. But there was little use for the treasures that Jotunheim had hoarded, although that wasn’t completely true – the Witch King knew the paths between worlds, beyond his lands there were uses for the precious things and he had even made sure to _acquire_ even more), it was something so much better than that. The _attention_ , the _power_ , the _knowledge_ he could give Sigyn – it was not something that that _Theoric_ , the soldier-boy could.


	17. Turn the dream into a nightmare, turn the fairytale into a grotesque

**Chapter seventeen**

**_Turn the dream into a nightmare, turn the fairytale into a grotesque_ **

 

 

The moment the gargantuan doors closed Sigyn’s mind froze. All thoughts fled to the four winds – leaving a void in her head. When she finally willed herself to move towards her chamber, the closer each step took her – the faster her pace became. By the time she reached it she was already running.

Something inside her made her close the door, it was not done by a conscious thought however. The girl did not take off her coat or her shoes before collapsing onto the bed. The tears that had been running down her cheeks morphed into violent sobs. The room appeared to be barren and the space was filled only with her broken sobs and heartbreaking wails.

It was a strange sensation – that utter blankness. Even what she had experienced when they had been captured did not compare to this. But she did not have enough of herself to notice this oddity (or anything else for that matter).

The young Lady cried for long hours. Her throat was clogged and she had started hiccupping, the strength of her sobbing varying as though on waves. When she finally returned to a semblance of a normal mental processing capacity – the night was well underway. Her eyes were tremendously swollen and it was difficult for her to see – but it was not her sight of the peculiar clock above the vanity that alerted her of the time, it was determined internally.

With her tears still not dried and seemingly still unceasing, she removed her clothes and shoes, but remained in her underdress. She did not want and did not even think about putting on the revealing nightclothes-not-really-nightclothes she had been provided with. It was an unconscious thing but she wanted something of her own, something of _home_ to be near her in this hospitable prison. However all that she wore was just an imitation of the fashion her healer’s robes were crafted in. Except for the lambskin coat – that coat, her father’s gift – that was her own. So she crawled underneath the covers, while clutching that piece of _home_ to her. The woman curled into a tight ball and draped the coat over herself and only then did she draw the covers and coverlet over herself. The cold that had wrapped around her in the Throne Room seemed to be without intention of leaving still, it only seemed to be festering into a bone-deep freeze.

The Vanir female realized how bright the room was and at that thought she saw through the crack of her opened eyes how everything grew dimmer. She instantly became startled – she did not want to be alone in the dark. Although the contrary was not desirable – to be with any possible _someone_ (whether in light or darkness) was much, _much_ worse. The presence of those she wanted was impossible – the Asgardian warriors were beyond her reach, and those who she really wanted to see – her family (anyone of them would do), were just the same. And it did not matter that ones were separated from her by walls (and possibly levels) and the others by vast distances of Cosmos – they were still too far away. But as by her wish (and in reality it was her wish that commanded the lights, for they were enchanted – but she was not in the right state of mind to grasp that) the lights dimmed, however did not extinguish themselves to leave her in oppressing darkness.

She was still crying but a fraction of coherency had returned. Most of it was formed by a factual voice, one that evaluated and stated, and raised questions which she could not answer. Alas that inner voice was too apathetic, mechanic even – it was not one that she recognized to have encountered before, it was simply too foreign.

There was no denying – the threat of the King. And it was a threat – she did not doubt that, despite how smoothly and subtly it was given, the fact remained just the same. The formed situation was simple (oh, but was it truly? Was it truly...) – there were two digits in the equation and two possible outcomes, no further possibilities were to be found. She had been given a choice (but was it really a choice? No, it was not a choice – for she had no choice in the matter, even if it was phrased as though she had), a basic deal as simple as they come yet so complex in its machinations. It would be a beautiful oxymoron, that is if she would have been the instigator of it. The trick was that there was sacrifice in the ultimatum, no matter which choice she would make. It was either her or the Aesir she had arrived into this Norn-forsaken place with – someone _had_ to be sacrificed. The point was that she hadn’t made her choice – for there was naught to make. She could not decline the Ruler’s ‘offer’ and doom her friends to certain death (except for the Asgardian Prince, since he was the bargaining chip in the game between Asgard and Jotunheim – that bizarre voice in her head added).

The mixed-blood Lady had never thought that she would find herself in such a situation – for how could she – she was inconsequential after all. But the cold, hard logic wired part of her (which was too alien to be considered a part of her, however it clearly belonged to her) intervened again – ah, although she was inconsequential that did not mean that others would not find a purpose for her. And it all made sense – the interest the Frost Giant had showed in her, or so the voice said. Alas it did not make sense to her, even though the voice set to elaborate it for her.

She was seeing things from Asgard’s point of view – and hadn’t the Leader of the Jotunns told her that she was not in Asgard any longer, she was in Jotunheim – that was obvious now, crystalline clear. It did not matter that Realm Eternal did not think of her person as part of official royalty (yes, she was of royal heritage, but that was pretty much where it ended, since she did not have an official status or a god-purpose, and she was also not part of the court), however her family was considered that. Her grandfather and mother were what the highest branch of Yggdrasill recognized as Vanir royalty. They were both figures of the Asgardian court and both had elements to god-over (her grandfather Lord Njord over seas and fisherman, her mother Lady Freya over love, fertility, sexuality, death and other things). Her father – Iwaldi was just a province King of Svartalfheim. However almost like all of the Dvergar Kingdoms, his lands were rich and plentiful in both mines and forges – something that had power over Realm Eternal. So while her power was virtually inexistent, through her ties of blood – her _husband_ could loom over the Allfather’s Realm.

The half-blood did not know exactly what the Jotunn was bargaining for with Asgard, however it could not possibly be powerful enough to take the Golden World down. If it was indeed extremely potent – still, currently the Ice Realm stood no chance against the Odinfather’s forces. Even if the Cold World could win the war by a longshot, the victory would not bring much gain to these barren lands. The loss would simply be too big, Jotunheim would be crushed beyond hope of ever getting back to its lingering state of sufficient survival. That was exactly where she came in, despite the unlikeliness of an alliance, the icy Monarch could still use her to avoid any measures being taken against the Realm of Frost.

But the Asynjur (soon that position of serving under the Aesir Queen would be only a remnant of her past) was not foolish. If this was the scheme of the royal Giant (and that voice was entirely positive that it was so), then it was not as without fail as it seemed. She was not naïve enough to think that the God of Wisdom would risk Realm Eternal for the sake of a lone healer. If her death meant that Asgard would be safe – the High God would not hesitate to terminate Jotunheim and her with it. While the loss of Njord, Freya and Iwaldi would not be easily ignored – what would it be compared to a possible annihilation of the Aesir race?

Alas, this was not something that mattered – her logic (even if sound) would not be enough to convince the Jotunn Prince to reconsider. And maybe he was simply taking a gamble, perhaps he thought that even a slimmer of a chance that she could be useful – was worth taking it. It was not like this could harm him or his world in any case.

The empathy-lacking, factual voice continued, although now it took more to pondering rather than adding up ‘plausible possibilities’ like it had before. The basis of marrying a Jotunn or an Aesir was the same, there were differences but they weren’t vast (but oh they were and heartbreakingly so, however she would realize that only about a half-hour later, her mind was churning slowly). The girl-woman would be required to be loyal and obedient to her husband – she was certain that was the same in the Cold World as well (even if the last Queen had been an exception – or so the royal Jotunness’s son claimed).

She knew very little of Theoric, however she had visited his house (which was not a palace or a very grand dome, but still an abode worth a great deal in gold) along with her grandfather – so that he could assess whether the match was truly a good one. That experience had told her something about what kind of duties she would have ( _would have had_ – the logical side corrected, for she no longer was the betrothed of the Crimson Hawk, was she?). The female had noted the utter lack of servants (she assumed that the man had a cleaner, a cook and a gardener – or a few – visit from time to time, but not permanently reside in the large house). Therefore it was clear that she would have to fully or at least partially take over those chores, once she would be the wife of the warrior. Cooking and cleaning (not so much with the gardening though) and similar work was often done by any lady of the house in Realm Eternal.

Yes, she was highborn (a Vanir Princess even), however while her heritage remained strong and being married to her would not equal being married to a peasant girl – it was not unimaginable for her to be entrusted with housework, it was tradition after all. All of the court-women and almost all of the noblewomen had plenty of servants and did not bother with any kind of work around the house (only because their husbands allowed it though), still there were some that partially did housework or did a certain chore because they liked it.

This was one of the differences between these two marital arrangements. As Queen of Jotunheim (at those words the young woman’s body was struck by an even stronger shiver) she doubted that she would be required to do any chores about the Winter Palace at all. The icy fortress had to have a lot of servants (someone did prepare the meals – and she had seen them being carried out by workers of this domain, during her dinners with the King; and then the palace – or at least some of it, was definitely cleaned and taken care of), all of the tasks required to be done to keep everything as it was – could not have been performed via magic alone. It was simply too taxing and too mundane for any Grand Master of Magic to do. Therefore it was clear that such duties would not befall her now.

Her other duties would have consisted of _wifely duties_ and childbearing (or more accurately the bearing of at least one male, so that the House she would be married into would have an heir), it had to be the same here as well. However those might be utterly different in this world. Her _wifely duties_ would probably stay the same; the Ice Giant did not seem to have a vivid aversion to touching her (or maybe he simply hid it well, he definitely had the smarts for it and she had been in a state of shock when he’d touched her). Or perhaps he would bed her only until he’d deemed that was enough for a proper husband, or perhaps he would tire of her (if so, pr-pr-pr-preferably quickly – the Lady stuttered inwardly) and lose interest, and move onto a better woman to satisfy his _needs_ (for her Asgardian thinking dictated that all men had _such_ needs). Surely the Frost Jotunn would be more interested in having Jotunnesses in his bed (lovers taken by married men was an often enough occurrence in Asgard, and maybe it was completely acceptable in the Realm of Frost). There were definitely more knowledgeable and gifted females here than she was, she knew little of such endeavors and wanted even less to know more in the _practical_ sense. Hopefully her new fiancé and soon-to-be-husband would get bored with her swiftly. She was useless there where these matters were concerned. But perhaps if she was fortunate enough ( _please, please, please, please let it be so_ – Sigyn pleaded) Jotunheim would prove to be different enough and she would not have to learn to be a _pleasing_ lover (for in Realm Eternal she would have to become one, for she would have to do _everything_ her husband bade her to do).

As for giving birth to children... Well, that may not even be something she should worry over. Sleeping a couple of times with someone you found displeasing or revolting was one thing – allowing them to have your child was another. The young Ruler could deal with the former – if he thought it to be required, but the latter may not be a necessity (even if continuing your line in the Cold World was a hardwired tradition, there were possible reasons why that would be different in this marriage; and besides he was the King – he could rewrite law as he deemed fit). He could obviously deal with the thought of touching her, however the fact remained that they were of different races. She already knew that it was possible for them to... (don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it – she chanted the words in her head like a mantra) because Ice Jotunns had the ability to control the temperature of their bodies – and so the act would not lead to severe injuries or death for her (if he _wanted_ it not to), however that was not the point. The Aesir hated, loathed and were disgusted by Frost Giants – it had to go vice versa too. So, while she was not exactly an Aesir – but an Asgardian (by citizenship, like quite a few were) with Vanir and Dvergar blood coursing through her veins – that was not all that much of a difference (or at least it had to be thought so by the cold inhabitants of this equally cold world). Therefore mixing royal Jotunn blood with an Asgardian or a half-blood (it did not matter what she was considered) – could not be acceptable.

Generally she liked children, although she did not want to have her own. The idea of giving birth was not abhorrent to her (and she had been present at births; she was a healer predominantly of battle-inflicted wounds, so births along with pregnancies was out of her realm of work, however she had helped midwives a couple of times). It wasn’t appealing but it was not unbearable either. It was the _making_ of those tiny creatures that terrified her. However that did not mean that the Goddess-not-really-Goddess found marital responsibilities utterly sickening (although there were certain practices that were severely nauseating) – responsible, consenting adults could do anything they liked and it was not her business (and she was not nosey or privy to what wedded persons did behind closed doors). But, but! That was what _other_ people did, key word – other, if it were her with someone – it was not something she wanted to either think about or consider. She liked (soon that would be just ‘had liked’ – that damnable voice informed) her life and she hadn’t wished for it to be complicated by things she did not want, things she did not understand.

The voice, that side of her, continued musing. Perhaps the man, whom she was to marry, truly did possess the trait of talkativeness, and perhaps he would still indulge in talking with someone who was clearly unmatched by his intelligence and wit... She did not know whether that idea frightened or maybe slightly soothed her. Since social interaction that involved conversing was vital to almost any creature, so occasionally exchanging a few words with someone was what she needed as well. And if he really could bear talking to her – he would still do so sometimes. It was strange – the amount of attention he had given her. No one had ever interested themselves so much in the Asynjur – so that was peculiarly appreciated. She had trouble comprehending it at the moment – but feeling as something consequential, something sentient beyond proper small-talk (a few words of greeting and inquiries upon general wellbeing) was something she... needed.

If the Vanir would not have any duties, maybe she would be allowed to continue visiting the librarium and studying the knowledge that lied within. But perhaps his welcome would wear out eventually – and so she would need to give something in exchange for a right to enter that sanctuary of written word again. She would have to _p-p-pleasure_ the King sufficiently to be granted such right to enter the library (the girl dry-heaved at the thought; she was not completely unknowing where it concerned the pleasures of the flesh; she was a keen listener, and women – often those of noble blood – spoke of their private lives too freely and too uncaringly for any accidental ears present). And perhaps that would be unnecessary, perchance she would be given access to books without having to prove her _value_ as a wife.

Perhaps she would be able to _persuade_ her... _husband_ to allow her more than just a path from bedroom to library. For sanity’s sake she needed more than just reading, else she would become lost in literature fantasy with no sane grasp of reality. Perhaps the mixed-blood female would be able to _convince_ , to _service_ him (there were more of those dry-heaves and her sobbing intensified at that thought) into letting her sometimes do what she was born to do – to heal. She did not know how Frost Giants would react to her – to an Asgardian – tending to their wounds (but surely, he was their Leader, he would not let them harm her... would he?). The talented healer did not care whether she would not be allowed to heal serious wounds, tending to minor injuries was acceptable. Fixing scrapes and bruises was fine with her (and oh, how she did not want to, Norns how she did not want to – but she would do _anything_ to be allowed such freedom).

As for Queenly duties, well, she did not think that she would have any. Perhaps Sigyn would be required to attend some sort of gatherings with the King. Perhaps she would not need to utter more than a greeting, staying silent and being a ‘gem’ (she was no beauty – she was referring to her ‘purpose’ of being there) at the crowned Prince’s side. And perhaps that would be it...

But that was all just theory – for what may have seemed one way, could turn out to be much, much worse... Perhaps because of boredom or perhaps it would be his true intentions – but it was all too possible, all too real for the Jotunn to use her in any way he pleased. The words ‘wife’ and ‘Queen’ may suddenly turn out to mean nothing to him, that way obliterating everything that was connected to them. So limitation on her freedom perhaps was not even something she should be concerned with. He might deem her useless or think that keeping her well-fed and in such luxurious conditions was uncalled for – and so would lock her up and forget her in some icy dungeon. And perhaps her future would be much more grim than that – she did not know what entertained the Giant... That could be pain, torture, humiliation, the very destruction of body, mind and soul – and he may see her as a good source of entertainment. Her conscious and subconscious swam into each other, they collided and crashed – creating the most hideous, most terrifying, most unspeakable scenarios... The untitled Lady could not continue thinking about that – so she denied those ghastly images and that line of thought to have ever existed in her psyche. 

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps... There were too many questions, too many uncertainties. Alas Norns had decided to give her this fate (and she had never expected such) – and the woman would have to abide by their will. Oh, she should have been careful, her child-mind should have been careful with what it had wished for... Because fairytale daydreams, age-old daydreams, were coming true. But it was nothing to be celebrated, for they were coming true warped and twisted. The basis of a dream turning into a nightmare, a picture of a storybook turning into a disturbing grotesque of the most morbid of realities. Her toddler wishes (for they were just that old and she had learnt to read at a very early age) of a valiant, sweet Prince on a white steed, who would marry and ferry her away to a faraway land, into a magnificent castle – were twisted into an unyielding, cold-hearted Prince ( _King_ ) who had various beasts under his command and who would force her to marry him, and cage her in sunless, barren lands, within a decaying castle... Now the Norns seemed cruel to her, with their crooked version of precision.

A stronger wave of anguish hit her. It had appeared as though her tears would end sometime soon, alas she had more than a few still left to shed. The young Queen-to-be realized the _real_ difference between the two marriages (the one that _had_ loomed over her and the one that was rapidly approaching). She would never see her _home_ again, she would never see the Golden City, she would never see the towers of Asgard again... She would not gaze into the Cosmos – most visible from the highest branch of the World Tree of Ash, or stare off into the waving sea as it fell and evaporated into the very space beyond Realm Eternal... She would never walk the high, winding, seemingly floating streets of the Aesir city, she would never visit the Asgardian markets, would never again smell the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries... She would never see Noatun and the Sea Palace again, she would never walk the Asgardian seashores or witness the harbor, and she would never enter her childhood bedroom again... She would never visit Gladsheim’s gardens or the libraries of the Golden Palace, she would never see spring again... She would not be an Asynjur any longer, she would not see the other handmaidens of the Aesir Queen, she would not see the High Goddess or serve her again... She would never enter the healing chambers of the Bright Home, she would never smell the air that lingered there – with the comforting smell of disinfectant and herbs... The Goddess of Healing – Lady Eir, would never teach her again, she would never see the other healers... She had not had any friends in Asgard – despite that she was polite and nice to everyone, alas the fact still remained that she would never share greetings and have her wellbeing inquired about, or hear other irrelevant inquiries... But most important, most important of all was that she would never, ever, see her family and blood-kin again. She did not have it in herself to care about her distant relatives, alas her grandfather, her mother, her father, her sisters – them she would never lay eyes upon again...

Sigyn’s inner world was breaking. There were many words to describe her shattered inner sanctum. The overpowering darkness – the feeling of uselessness that she felt: _sorrow, misery, anguish, despair, torment, suffering, agony_... – alas, neither of them nor they all combined could equal what she felt...

She fell asleep with thoughts of family intertwined with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noatun – this term is mentioned in the bottom author's notes of the second chapter.
> 
> There is no such thing as a 'Sea Palace' in the mythology or the comics as much as I know. It's basically how I've called the palace of Noatun, the dome of the Sea God Njord.
> 
> About the chapter:  
> A solely introspective chapter, however I thought it to be very much relevant to the story. I have read quite a few fics that had arranged and unwanted marriages in them, but almost all were lacking in the aspect of the unwilling one's thoughts and reactions. It's so often tuned down as though being forced to marry someone is a rather trifle thing – that would be fine, if the unwilling one would not be described as so furiously unwilling.  
> There is so much that a marriage entails, especially if we have not our current timeline and world in mind. It can be pure hell for a woman – yet that is somehow rarely explored in detail. Therefore I had to write Sigyn's thoughts and of course mention the issue of unwanted marital duties, in other words – sex. And it really is important to mention, since some stories tend to make it look as though it is only living with someone you do not want to the issue, and unwanted sex is not at all part of the unwilling one's concerns. Well, knowing the character of this Sigyn's portrayal – not mentioning it would have been a folly.


	18. If fate were written on palms

**Chapter eighteen**

**_If fate were written on palms_ **

When Sigyn woke it was from restless slumber, which had been ridden with moments of wakefulness. Her dreams had been dark (she recalled the mass of a black void of them) and nightmarish – although that she could deduce only from the cold sweat that clung to her and the much too rapid beating of her heart in those times of waking. For she did not remember what she had dreamed about (and did not wish to recall). The odd clock above the vanity dictated an hour at which she would have been up and about in normal circumstances; it was late morning now.

Opening her crusted and swollen eyes was a difficulty. Whenever the girl cried her eyes were always left puffy and ugly red – this fact unsettled her (however concerning her overall state, the unsettlement was so miniscule it was barely relevant). Back home, back in Asgard she had shed tears very rarely (even as a child she had soon realized that crying would seldom solve anything) – so she had little reason to worry about coworkers or anyone else noticing the remnants of her sadness and inquiring about it. But it was not the unattractiveness that unnerved her (she was not a vain creature at all) – it was what the signs would portray. The half-blood Vanir had been raised by Asgardian traditions – which told that one should never show grief and sorrow, especially to the enemy (alas she would not be considering the Jotunn Prince a nemesis for long now, would she? Soon her loyalties and obedience would lie with the royal man, and having secret thoughts and motives against one’s husband – was something against all that she and Aesir law stood for).   

Despite how much the Lady wished to just stay in bed – she couldn’t. It would not do her – or more importantly her friends – any good. Since she could not stall, she left the warm place.

She headed for the bathing chambers. After washing up she left the washing room clad in a remodeled copy of her healer’s robes and returned to the purple-violet bedchamber. The mirror of the make-up table beckoned to her (although she did not care why it did). Her reflection bespoke of her refreshed visage, alas remnants of last night’s tears still remained. She did not worry about it – she forbade herself to do so. Worrying and fretting over such minor things was pointless, especially since soon she would do much more of that, soon she would have real reasons to fret over... Therefore burning perfectly good nerves over such a trifle thing was not acceptable.

The young woman noticed that she had not missed breakfast – it had appeared, although the time for that meal had long since passed. As always the food and its scent was inviting, alas she was not hungry. The thought of eating was nauseating. She was weak – but food would not replenish her strength (for her exhaustion was much more from mental strain than a physical one). Still she did drink the tea. The sweet herbal taste aided her state somewhat, and however minor such help was – it was welcome regardless.

She did not know what to do with herself, in her current predicament (although the door out of this room might have been unlocked and the path to the librarium still available to her) – there was nothing for her to do. Idling may just be the cause for more worrying, alas the point was moot – the female had nothing better to occupy herself with.

It was not a brave thing to do, however she had no bravery to speak of (or at least that was so at this very moment), so she simply sat on the ground, carefully tucking herself away in a corner. Cowering in a remote corner (although it was not much that – seeing as the chamber was quite open in its planning) appeared to be the safest and most placating thing she could do – and so that was exactly what she did.

* * *

 

The girl-woman had been sitting in that corner for hours, having left only twice – both times to use the lavatory. The second meal of the day had appeared, but once more only the drink, which had accompanied it, had been consumed.

She had not even thought about doing something else or even sitting somewhere else, for every object in the chamber taunted her, the very room had become a dreaded place.

And this time it was not that cold, factual voice that spoke in her head – no, this voice sneered and made everything jeer. It told her that she shouldn’t have familiarized herself so with this room (and the path to the library or even the librarium itself), for the moment she had let down her guard – something terrible had happened. And the voice did not stop there, it also maliciously whispered to the Asynjur that she would soon be familiar with the Winter Palace itself (and oh, it would not be _hers_ , nor would she know its every nook and cranny – it was certain that she would not be allowed such knowledge over this treacherous dome). Soon she would be growing to know whatever part she would be allowed to – as well as her own palm.

And the Princess-soon-to-be-Queen knew her palm well, her mother was a gifted chiromancer. The Goddess of Love governed over a great deal more than most bothered to give importance or to remember (and it may as well be neither – for Freya was also the Goddess of Death, the Patroness of Folkvangr – therefore someone of great power and importance, so it might have been fear that led people to conveniently forget). Therefore for her the art of chiromancy was much more important than simply telling someone of their future love-life. The healer’s mother had read her palm as well, more than once. And while Sigyn had never acquired the gift of palm-reading – she knew the lines of hers well.

She had been a child then – but those scarce lines had been enough for the Vanir Goddess to see some things of her daughter’s future. The line of life was strong – promising quite the long existence for the then-babe, something that did not seem as much of a good thing now as it had to her naïve mind then. The line of the heart, of love had been already visible and what her mother had said, had made her giddy – she was to love a man strongly and dearly. Alas now it seemed that it was the line of _marriage_ that her palm reflected, and Freya had simply ‘sugared’ it, interpreted in a much lovelier way (though to someone so young, and of Asgardian rearing, it wouldn’t have changed anything – but it did so now).

As she had fisted her tiny, tiny hand, on the side of her force-wrinkled palm, in a certain place two wrinkles had appeared – signifying two infants – her Lady mother had said. That had excited her child-self immensely and then she had hoped that she would give her husband at least one male child (the gender of the other hadn’t mattered) – so that she would prove herself an excellent wife – one capable of giving birth to an heir.

The mixed-blood woman clenched her hand into a fist – the two little lines were still there on the side of her hand. So, perhaps she would actually give her soon-to-be husband children, maybe even an heir. That was for the best though, for the other possibilities (of those babes not being from the Ice Giant King) – were far, far too horrific and terrifying to even consider. That voice from within her brain gave its hissy agreement – it was better to be the _whore_ of one, then the whore of _many_.

She shuddered hard – she herself would have never thought to call any faithful wife a whore (the word and all its synonyms were taboo in her mind). However it seemed that there was more to her mind than she had ever thought. Perhaps it was this horrible world beginning to attempt changing her – to make her a monster, for it would be fitting for Jotunheim to have a Monster Queen... The girl did not want to know how this new life would warp her, she did not want to think about any possibilities of this forsaken place re-forging her into something that was no longer her...

Alas soon, far too soon her passive existence ended. When the untitled Lady had risen from the bed she had uncharacteristically left it unmade – when she had returned from her bath – it had been neatly made (as though this phantom fortress wished to erase every hint of her being). Now, on those perfectly tidy covers rested a letter and a parcel.

Overall she was trying to force-function, but it seemed that her fractured mind had other conflicts to deal with. The frightened part of her feared for what were the contents of the box, it stuttered in her brain that there was a head in the box. However logic interfered with that illogical fear – the box was too small to house a severed head (and whose could it be – don’t think about it, don’t think about the possibility of the Jotunn Ruler actually making true on his threat...). Another conflict arose between two voices (she lost count how many crowded her headspace now) – one said that it was routine, which was something she knew how to deal with, while the other said that routine was bad, it was evil – just look where it had led her to!

The Vanir overruled the voices, time was of essence. First was the note – no different from the others. Another dinner, at the same hour as always – the seventh. She placed it back on the bed and turned her attention to the innocent (malicious), beautifully wrapped parcel. When she opened it – the illusion of those heinous things disappeared, there was nothing vicious or dangerous to be found in the box.

The first item was a pair of panties – the color was different, the shape was the same. The next item – an evening gown. It was no worse than the other had been (both by value and by the revealing factor). It was red (just like the blood colored eyes of Frost Giants), long sleeved and long in length, offering not even a hint of a décolleté – ah, but there was always a catch. While the front of the top of the dress appeared mild – it was not so for all of it, the back was fully exposed and the bottom – the skirt – well, it was just like those garments the Leader of the Jotunns wore. Her legs would be heavily exposed for there was little fabric to hide them.

This gown was just as elaborate as the others. It was bejeweled all over. On the neck rested an imitation of a collier, which was large and covered most of the material that would lie on the wearer’s chest. The trick-collier did not end – it seemed to simply melt, at the neck the precious stones were largest and gradually decreased in size, blending in like beading along with the embroidery of the finest black threads. The gems were also sanguine, but they did not drown in the color of the fabric – they sparkled too strongly for that. The one who was to wear the dress could probably recognize the stones, however she was not in the state to marvel, name or even guess at the value – details were unimportant. All she had to do was get dressed, everything else was irrelevant. The meticulous embroidering depicted large roses most vividly on the bottom half of the gown, the petals were partially beaded with those probably unfathomably precious stones.

There was also a pair of shoes – high heels, much higher than the two pairs before had been; strapped and made out of lacquered black leather. Jewelry had not been forgotten either – the earrings were long, fashioned out of black metal and bejeweled with the same crimson jewels.

She dressed and then allowed herself to be subjected to the will of those dark mock-halos.

* * *

 

When she opened her eyes, more so than before – what the mirror showed her did not resemble her at all. Her hair was upraised into an intricate chignon, the same sanguine beads having been woven into her strands. Her face was powdered to an even more pallid tint. However her fake complexion did not appear unnatural or a far cry from her own pale skin; she appeared to be snow-white.

Her eyes were very heavily lined with black kohl and the line dragged outwards – it made her eyes look as though they were not her own. Her eyes had never looked that... _mean_. And it was not the orbs themselves – it was the way they were painted with make-up that created this bizarre illusion. Her lips matched the color of her gown. Her fingernails had grown even longer, they were sharpened now though and covered in a varnish that matched the hue of her lips and dress.

With Sigyn’s visage complete – she could barely recognize herself. It was more difficult than before – for her face seemed too blank. The reflection was not her own (alas it was). She wanted to swear to the reflection-not-her-reflection that she would keep who she was and what she was, that she would not give that away. Alas she could not, for all would depend on her husband (and her loyalty would make sure that she would refuse her truest self, until there would be nothing left to refuse – even if the struggle was to be ‘til death).

* * *

 

Before opening the doors to the black dining room the girl had thought that this would be how she would deal with her further life – by passing through it almost unfeelingly (but of course without showing any resistance; disloyalty was not in her nature). However her nearly flawless functioning was disrupted by fear entwining itself along the cracks of her shattered existence as she opened the metal studded doors.

She may have been greeted or perhaps not, but the moment she entered she fell into a curtsy and offered her greeting.

“Y-your M-Majesty” her words stumbled over themselves. She did not dare address the royal man as he had asked her to (and whether that was because of the changed situation or because she found it inappropriate – she did not know).

He rose from his seat, acknowledging her as he did. He had not smirked or smiled when she addressed him, however he was not showing any signs of annoyance either.

“Lady Sigyn. Please sit.”

The woman did as she was told, inwardly taking in the details. The Jotunn Prince was dressed differently, however the shape of the garment had remained the same (or perhaps not – she had not managed to get a good look). His hair was wavy again and he wore the circlet with the bloodstone in it. But what she found ironic were his clothes – while hers were black on red, his were red on black (even the silhouettes of the bottom halves matched). It was without a doubt done with intention.

* * *

 

The half-blood female had believed her ‘fiancé’ to begin the dinner with inquiring for her answer to his offer, however he had not. The Leader of Frost Jotunns ate and conversed as _usual_ (and it was frightening to think about this situation like that – the girl thought to herself), as if he was not waiting for her answer. And in all truth he wasn’t, it was not like she actually had a choice of declining his offer of marriage. The conversation was light and interesting as _usual_ , however she spoke less. Not matter how intriguing the words the male uttered were – she listened to them attentively but most of the time failed to contribute. The healer had only voiced herself when she thought it to be truly necessary, when it was not possible to stay quiet. The other conversant did not seem to mind though. He simply chattered away as though he had not even noticed her tenseness or how she stuttered whenever she did speak.

And in the very same fashion dessert had ended as well. The girl-woman had not even attempted to touch any of the courses and she had barely even sipped her drink. She was sure that the Giant had noticed it, but he had not commented on it.

He placed his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers.

“Now then, I think it is time for the discussion of the actual reason behind this dinner. I assume you have come to a decision and are ready to give me the answer?” he asked. Somehow his dragging of this ordeal made her feel as though someone was slowly tearing off a bandage that had been left on a wound for too long.

She shallowly nodded.

“And? Do we have a deal?” the King of Jotunheim made a slight pause and swept the hall with his gaze, until his eyes found hers once more. A dark smirk began playing on his lips “Will you... marry me?”

“Y-Yes, my K-King” and those words signaled her utter surrender, more than it may have seemed. It was so wrong, so completely, utterly, terribly wrong... There had been just one King that the Asynjur had referred to as ‘my King’ – it was the Allfather. To address a Ruler with that kind of possessive pronoun meant to acknowledge them as your own Leader and not just acknowledge one’s status. Her response shifted her loyalty, placing it onto the Jotunn King. She could not harm Asgard (she hoped that she would never have to – so that her husband would not be required to punish her for her disobedience), however it was bound to fall far down in her loyalty list soon.

The Lady thought that with this the evening would end, that now he would utter his customary ‘goodnight’. She just now realized how exhausted she was, how leaden her limbs were. Alas before that, the Ice Giant still had something to say.

“Call me Loki, _Sigyn_ ” he said and a sinister grin overtook his visage.


	19. Imaginary personae

**Chapter nineteen**

**_Imaginary personae_ **

For several days after Sigyn’s acceptance of marriage she had not seen neither hide nor hair of her Jotunn husband-to-be. She had managed to climb out of the lows of despair that she’d reached when the ‘offer’ had been made. Thus did not mean that her situation was forgotten, no, unwittingly she had done the same thing as when her first betrothal had occurred. Just like with her impending wedding with Theoric, the girl had (not quite consciously) pushed the future and its innumerable possible paths into her subconscious. She simply lived in the moment with a semblance of forgetfulness consuming the possibility of tomorrow. She continued with existence just like she always had. Her life had regained the ‘routine’ and she didn’t question whether that was for the best.

It was not to say that the female Vanir existed without thought of things outside of the library and the purple-violet room. Not seldom did her mind stray to the Asgardian warriors and their fate. Since her utter isolation she had neither seen nor heard of them. What could have happened to them... well, the answer to that was only susceptible to guessing. Everyone except her and Prince Thor (no longer her Prince or at least not her Prince for long) might as well be dead. It was even possible that they were no longer in the Cold War at all. Perhaps the King of Jotunheim had managed to finalize his dealing with the Allfather and consequentially the exchange had already been made. For she was certain, as certain as one under these circumstances could ever be, that if the cold Monarch had demanded a lone healer and Asynjur additionally to whatever that was the price for Asgard’s Heir’s safe return – the God of Wisdom would not have opposed.

The Aesir Ruler was the greatest Ruler to have ever graced the Nine – and he would never risk Realm Eternal’s future King’s, Yggdrasill’s defender’s life for the sake of one woman. The God of Thunder was the _future_ , he was to be the protector of all – which meant that so many beings depended on his existence; and a wise Leader would never risk his people for one, hardly consequential person. The half-blood woman had always revered the Odinfather for that, however at this moment a part of her fervently wished that he would be anything but the great Ruler that he was.

The theory that the bargain was complete was not implausible – so many days had passed, so many that she had long since lost count. However if that had happened, then it had went quietly. For she was sure that if the Aesir armies would have stepped foot into the Ice Realm – one way or another – she would have come to know of it. Still there was the puzzling thing that there had been no armies sent, nothing of the sort – it was beyond baffling. The young Lady may have not known the Allfather well, however she was well aware that his son was his greatest treasure.

Figuring out why nothing had been done (at least nothing effective) was close to being impossible. But she figured that it all had everything to do with the sinister Frost Giant that sat in Jotunheim’s throne. The creature of ice had to have done something, something incomprehensibly malevolent, to keep the High God at bay. The female believed that it was not possible that the King of the Golden World would have conceded to making a bargain concerning his child’s safety when he could have stormed these desolate lands and annihilated everyone who’d stand in his path – thusly retrieving the Golden Prince immediately. It was true that the Allfather chose diplomacy over bloodshed as often as was possible, alas this concerned something he valued much more than his peaceful doctrine.

However there was a deep gaping hole in that theory. The God of Wisdom would never give up on his Heir, therefore the deal would have been made without hesitance. And yet the time that had passed (even if just counting the time Sigyn had spent locked away together with the Storm God) opposed that adamantine truth. So just what had the Jotunn King demanded that the Odinfather was so unwilling to part with?...

* * *

 

The librarium of the Winter Palace had seen its only guest of the past days leave just a matter of minutes ago. The girl-woman was returning back to her designated chamber, with a thick tome of fictitious adventures tucked away in her hands, when she saw something that broke her illusion of routine to the tiniest shards imaginable. Though her pace faltered for a second her feet continued despite her desperate wish to flee. Her heart did not know whether to stop beating and die or to accelerate and die – it did both sequentially, just without the dying part.

The constantly beating organ in her chest slowed as if to give time and strength for her mind to function. And think it did, her thoughts many and revealing much – too defined as though time had been outstretched a hundred times, and it did feel as long as eternity.

The sight the girl saw should not have disturbed her so (this was the owner of the fortress, his presence within it should have been obvious), but at the same time it was somehow so _different_ that it brought light over something she had not realized that she’d been doing. The Prince of the Ice Giants stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall opposite to the door of the purple-violet room, seemingly waiting for something (and she knew what he was waiting for). Neither the setting nor his boyish stance were out of place or ridiculous, but it was just _wrong_ – he did not _belong_ in this corridor. And what was truly ridiculous was that she was thinking that the King of the castle did not belong in his castle.

The scene was so _strange_ , so _alien_ , it was _casual_ and _real_ , and _living-breathing-like_ – that it simply broke her idea of reality into something that was the _true_ reality. And perhaps this – the cruelly dismantled illusion – was what had allowed her to continue functioning. Alas now the fantasy was no longer there, now she knew that she was she and that this was _real_.

The young man standing in the hallway befitted none of the images the Vanir Princess’s psyche had of him. When she had seen him for the very first time it was a Master of _legions_ and _armies_ of _monsters_ – that persona failed to match the one her eyes witnessed now. It was not the Master Sorcerer that held his prey in fluctuating, green cages and leered at them from the other side of impenetrable walls. It was not the malicious and heartless King sitting in a twisted metal throne in a hall of ice. It was not the malefic and deceptive owner of a haunted dome, sitting at tables breaking from godly feasts, where everything was ghoulish and appeared on its own, and the staff as ghostly as the grim palace itself. And it was not the blue-skinned creature of an icy librarium, who sometimes appeared as she was browsing books and talked about literature as though a library sprite or a creature straight from a book.

By the time she reached the Ice Jotunn her realization was complete and her heart was breaking light speed. And things like this did not happen to people like her. People like her did not accept marriage offers from frightening Kings of Monsters in exchange for the lives of her friends – such only happened in _fiction_. All of the characters that the Frost Giant Ruler was – could only be myth – and she had taken it as though it were all made up by clever minds. But the being of ice that lingered in this hallway was not an illusion and she was not a heroine from a book. This Giant, standing just a few paces away, was **_all_** of those personas combined – he was them, and he was _real_. This reality resembled fantasy but was not one at all...

He turned to her, his sanguine eyes seeing into her and squeezing her fast beating heart in an icy grip. A smirk twisted his lips, he greeted her.

“ _Sigyn_ ” her name was purred, but it sounded somehow ominous, though his tone did not indicate anything dangerous.

Her response was so unsteady and ridden with stutters that the ‘Your Majesty’ was botched completely (however he did not seem to mind her garbled words). The greeting was accompanied by a curtsy, which was no less ill performed than her spoken words.

She was already straightening to her full height, but kept her spring green orbs trained onto the ground – therefore she did not see the twitch of his lips that was the most subtle of signs of him nearly saying something. If she would have seen it, then perhaps when her psyche would’ve been in balance again – she would have successfully interpreted him as trying to correct her in how she addressed him, but thinking it better to be left unsaid.

The male remained as he was, leaning against the wall, and resumed speaking. As he did so the Asynjur felt the illusion or perhaps a facsimile of it returning. It was the only way that her heart’s unrelenting pace could be slowed and the organ disallowed to tear itself into two.

“I hope that you forgive my rudeness for appearing so unannounced, but I thought that it would not be too unforgivable – having in mind our current stance. Seeing as time is of essence now...” the slightest of pauses was registered by the female, although only later did she understand its meaning – he had caught himself saying too much. And long after his presence was gone from the hallway, and hours after she was left on her own – did she find solace in that tiny, seemingly inconspicuous revelation. It was grasping at straws really, but it was not unlikely that by mentioning that time was running out for something – the Monarch meant the completion of his dealings with the Allfather. And if that were so, if it were truly so, then she found the slightest ember of hope inside herself to hope that perhaps it would all end well, and not just for the Aesir Prince and the warriors – but for their little healer as well...

He continued speaking as though the split-second moment of silence had not even occurred.

“I thought that I should have this conversation like this, without an arrangement of a later meeting. And if the discussion would promise to be a lengthy one, then we could continue it someplace else” he took a breath and that was probably her cue to show her agreement, alas her ‘survival mode’ could not be bothered with these details. “I should probably get to the point” the Leader of the Frost Giants noted with a hollow, self-amused half-smile “I wanted to inquire whether you wanted some object, tradition, custom or ritual to be involved in the wedding ceremony. If it is within my power to grant – then it shall be done.”

The Lady shook her head as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Are you certain? Whatever you may want – you need only tell. You do not have to answer immediately, perhaps you will find something--”

She interrupted him (and Norns know, where in the Nine had she managed to get what it took to cut off the Ice Jotunn’s words), her voice barely audible and incredibly timid.

“N-no, there is nothing. I-I-I am certain of that” and it was true, even if she would have been given time she would not have come up with anything that she’d want to incorporate in that wretched wedding. Childish daydreams aside, the Vanir had never truly planned a wedding for herself in her mind. And any custom that was eternally intertwined with wedding ceremonies in Asgard could not be realized here, especially since most of them concerned some form of involvement of people Sigyn had close to nil chance of seeing again...

“Well, if you are certain” the Frost Jotunn said, moving away from the wall “Although if you do change your mind – let me know” then he told her something about leaving a note in the library and how he’d find it no doubt, and there was more about that, however her psyche found it to be irrelevant information – so it was chucked out of her brain as soon as it had entered it.

There were more words, but those escaped her, and only ‘ _three days_ ’ had engraved themselves into her mind. Just _three days_ , oh Norns...

She was vaguely aware of him bidding her goodbye and she wasn’t sure whether she had managed to return it. And with that he moved past her, but with enough distance so that there wasn’t even the slightest touch. As he languidly walked away she felt the cold of his body radiating vividly in the warm corridor. It felt as though an open window left in winter, letting the harsh wind inside a hearth warmed chamber. The comparison was not very accurate, seeing as the winters in Realm Eternal were rather mild, but there was no other that she could make. Even leaving a Dvergar forge and entering a hall outside could not rival the temperature shock created by the untampered cold of an Ice Giant in a warm environment.

The girl remained standing there, utterly paralyzed, with only ‘ _three days’_ echoing in her head. Eons could have passed until the comatose state left, forced out by a burning urgency. What the raven haired King had told her was not enough information for her to know what to expect of the wedding ceremony and more importantly – what requirements she was to fulfill. She wasted no more time and turned around, fervently hoping that he had not yet left (he hadn’t said whether they’d meet again before the ceremony and there was a question that he needed to answer before that).

And just to her luck (but was it worth celebrating such measly feats of fortune when overall it had turned out that she was truly misfortunate?) he was still there, no more than ten paces away from her.

“M-My Lord” she called out, but her call was by far too quiet to gain the definition of a shout.

The royal Jotunn gracefully spun on his heel to face her.

“Yes?” he queried.

“Is there a-anything I should know about the ce-ceremony itself? O-or--”

He interrupted her shaky questioning of him.

“No, no I do not think that there is. It is going to be very simple, _my dear_. I had called it a ‘ceremony’, but there shan’t be anything ceremonial about it – I thought thus to be more fitting. There won’t be any rituals or specific vows to tell, and there won’t even be anyone beside us” his eyes wandered, looking somewhere beyond the walls of the hallway “For now it will be adequate and if there will ever be the wish to throw a grand ceremony, then we shall renew our vows accordingly” the crimson orbs returned to gaze into her again, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips “Therefore do not think of the upcoming ceremony as a loss, a better one can always be realized later.”

Her question was answered, but it might have been unanswered for it was just too unclear. Afterwards the King uttered his goodbye and this time she was more certain that she had responded. With that he walked away, but her eyes were not focused enough to watch his retreat. Her whole being was overtaken by a faint, yet tremendously frightening, echo of his words – _three days_... 

Sigyn wanted to flee, to flee far away – because it was just three days, _just three days_. She followed the whim as much as she could, running away into her room.  As the door closed shut, her back resting against its paneling, she slid down onto the ground. Three days was not enough, eternity was not enough...

She wanted to be alone, to have her freedom tightly in her grasp until it would be violently wrenched away. And three days was just how long she was to keep her freedom. A tiny, irrational, childish speck that could be found within her mentality had the ridiculous notion of wishing that the Jotunn Prince would go back to the book that he came from.


	20. Of shadows cast and dying stars

**Chapter twenty**

**_Of shadows cast and dying stars_ **

The King of Jotunheim lied on his bed, atop the covers, still in his clothes of yesterday. He was sleepless and plans of attaining slumber were far from his devious mind. This insomnia did not bother him, not right now. He was thinking, however his thoughts were not grim and restless as they sometimes were.

The thirteenth hour had long since passed and it counted the third day past. It would no longer be tomorrow – but today – that his secondary goal would be achieved. The thought twisted his lips in a cold, self-satisfied smirk. This fact pleased him. But it was only half of a scheme to be achieved, the primary part was not to be done and over with quite so soon. Things were progressing well though, so he did not find himself counting and recalculating his odds at triumph in this very moment.

There was a slight buzzing sensation niggling at the back of his mind, born not just from awareness but because it was partially tied to his power as well. At times the feeling grew into a headache and he was certain that by the end of his plot he would be nursing a full-blown migraine. However such a trifle fact did not change anything, especially since his scheme was so well formed. This constant sensation was the backlash of keeping his world well hidden from Asgard and any other all-seeing eyes.

The shadow cast over the Ice Realm was not a spell made from his power alone. Were that the case, well, then a migraine would be the least of his worries. To upkeep something of such magnitude would require power beyond measure, and given if Loki could have held it in place this long – it would have already taken away his ability to function at whole. Even a slight limitation on his functioning was not something he could allow. Having someone else play the role he had to play – was pure suicide, he trusted no one with this plan (or any other, if truth on the matter was necessary to admit). If the Master Magician would not have found a way to cast this spell without such a price (one that had a certainty of failure after a matter of days and with the stressing of that limit even the certainty of death) – this plot would have been abandoned long ago, never to be more than an idea made in vain.

The barrier of shrouding was a piece of art, from the design of the runes that formed the impressive sigil – to the materials they were engraved and enchanted onto. Its up-keeping drained him little, relying on the planet’s power instead. And while few could tell, and definitely none of non-Jotunn blood, the young man felt the damage the shadowing was causing to his world. It kept devouring and breaking the void of the realm’s core further, slowly but assuredly. Gnawing its way through the cracks and festering in them, that way making the spidery ice-cracks into monstrous ravines...

The creation of the sigil would not have been possible with only the Cold World’s resources, many a thing that went into the creation of this unfathomable spell was gathered from a variety of places in Yggdrasill. And overall the whole plot would not have been possible or would have taken more than a millennium to create – if not for the knowledge the deceased Queen had left.

The crowned Prince had inherited more than a few morsels from her for his knowledge-greedy mind. All of that knowledge was priceless, however the main ingredients to the brew of his current, grand concoction were the mapping of paths between the Nine and her theories on the Bifrost. The factual information on the latter was pretty basic (although not something that was obvious enough for the entirety of the Jotnar to know), but the theories she’d had were more than brilliant. They were very plausible and the sole son of the Jotunn Queen had spent years on proving each one – none had been disproven. 

Though that was all that, it had only made the ploy possible but did not provide a failsafe. Should the bargain fall through, should he fail to get his part of the exchange... it would not end well for the Realm of Frost. The youngling of a King would not be able to keep his lands hidden for long, a few months’ time was how much the barrier could hold, whether for the reason of his own inability to upkeep it or whether for the planet’s – it did not matter which. If bringing back the Golden Prince would not be enough to pacify Odin... well, there was simply no guarantee that with his world’s visibility restored the Aesir Ruler would not annihilate the Frost Giant race. Exactly for that reason the royal Giant refused to allow himself even the slightest chance of failure. Should his demands be unheard – his threats would not be empty.

He shook himself from musing on the less defined details of his layered plot, they would only require defining should he be ignored. The Sorcerer conjured a sphere of ice, crystal clear and fitting well into his blue palm. Through it he called up the image of the Winter Palace’s lowers. Despite the late hour they were still busy with his scientists, the near restless working was necessary to further the progress. It wouldn’t be long now until he had the Heavenly Hammer in the state he desired.

The Ice Giant was not foolish to assume that Mjölnir could be used in any other way. The magic that laced the weapon was immense and while some parts of it could be gone about without breaking the magical boundaries, others – could not. Though that may be a constant and maybe not, he had no time to test the limitations. And the testing could only be done with the utmost carefulness, for the object’s power was too great to ignore. It could take decades or ages and even millennia to harvest Mjölnir’s full potential – and at best the Frost Jotunn had months. And it was not worth the risk anyway, should even the slightest of mistakes be made (no matter by whose hand) the outcome would be indescribably disastrous, truly apocalyptic.

The Hammer had begun its existence in a Dvergar forge and with the aid of the Allfather’s magic its forging was completed in the heart of a dying star. The star’s core was consumed by the weapon and became the source of its power. The limitations and the invisible law written on Mjölnir – “ _Whoever holds this Hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor_ ” were enchantments added later by the God of Wisdom. The making of The Crusher (for that was how its name translated from the Old Tongue of the Ash Tree, once known by all and now nearly forgotten) was so incredibly intense that it had nearly caused the destruction of the star – if the Heavenly Hammer’s forging would not have been successful – that would have happened.

Shattering the Odinfather’s magic would shatter the Uru container of the power, releasing it out. In simpler terms – tampering with the enchantments would trigger the weapon’s self-destruction. Be it any other weapon or artifact – that would not be a problem for the Frost Giant Ruler, but it was _Mjölnir_. Its power would not evaporate without consequence, no, it would revert to its original state. Mjölnir’s core would revert to its primal state – that of a _dying_ star.

A star’s power was nearly impossible to contain even with the best of preparations, but a living star did not equal a dying one. The celestial body that had become the source of the weapon’s power would continue with its death, going supernova before finishing its existence, mayhap even creating a black hole afterwards. And being where the Hammer was now – the supernova would happen in Jotunheim, consequentially obliterating both the inhabitants and the world itself.

Loki would not risk it, even if he would have the time necessary to study the weapon without causing destruction to all. He always wanted more but he didn’t always take it all. This time he would take as much as he could – and his greedy nature did not have the slightest opposition to that.

He played with the ice ball, twirling it in his hands. It created the illusion of the sphere hovering inertly and his blue fingers only moving along it, without even touching. The view of the makeshift laboratories could not captivate his attention for long, so he willed the scene shown in the conjured object to change. He knew that the new visage would not hold his interest for longer than a few minutes, but his sleepless and restless mind was bored.

The Leader was presented with the image of his prisoners. They were all in the same room, he had lied to Sigyn when he had told her that he was going to separate them all. Individual isolation was unnecessary, when the only one he wanted alone was the half-blood Princess. It would have been a waste of effort to divide his attention to six separate cages (even though putting up more than one energy barrier couldn’t even put a dent in the reserves of his power).

Two of the five warriors were sleeping, the others were on guard. It was pointless really, for if he really wanted to harm them – their ‘preparedness’ would mean nothing to him, it would not help them in any way. Their tactics were futile in changing a damn thing, however he could not discredit the warrior mind completely – it had its uses, but it would do no good for his captives.

The slumbering males he assumed to be two of the famous Warriors Three, the third one was awake. Also guarding their sleeping companions were the Golden Prince and the female warrior. He wracked his brain for the well-known songs and tales about the Thunderer and his weapon’s brothers, trying to find the Asgardian Goddess’s name. It definitely began with an ‘S’... Sif, was it? Well, it really didn’t matter what her name was. Should he need to get rid of them – he would definitely not bother with tombstones, much less with engraving the names of the deceased.

The Jotunn King had not deceived when he had told his soon-to-be Queen that he would allow her to heal her friends, should they be harmed. However he hadn’t specified what severity the wounds needed to be for her to be allowed to give aid – they would have to be either deadly or with eternal consequences on the Aesir soldiers’ health. And he did not plan for them to get so reckless with their wellbeing and lives. Alas he had had to make adjustments once he had realized that the Gods might be stupid enough to disregard their own safety.

When their little healer had not returned from her trip to the washrooms it did not take long for them to start a fruitless riot – which he had ignored. The Thunder God had bellowed demands for the girl’s return to the four walls, claiming that he knew that the Ice Giant King was behind her disappearance and that he was watching them. Well, the bratty Godling was partially correct – the crowned Jotunn Prince was guilty of stealing away that treasure of a woman, however he did not keep a vigilant eye over his prisoners. It was simply unnecessary because the cage itself was his magic and therefore – closely tied to him, he would feel should the captured ones misbehave.

Having not received a response (the royal Giant had not bothered to reply or make his presence known since the very first day) the Storm God had begun a violent attack on the green walls – with very harsh consequences. Seeing that this could possibly lead to making true on his word given to the Vanir Lady, he had to lessen the backlash that abusing the barrier caused. That particular enchantment was volatile and did not have any limitations, if physical contact grew in intensity and repetitiveness – so did the energy attacks of its defensive design, there were no boundaries on that – it could cause deadly injury. Therefore the Master Sorcerer had altered the severity of the backlashes, they would remain harsh and discouraging, but not severe enough to kill or permanently maim (it may take days, weeks or months for the injured ones to heal, but heal they would).

Changing the strength of the enchantment’s counteroffensive properties did not achieve anything, it was most possible that the Aesir had not even noticed the change. Their futile attempts at escaping had not ceased, but they hadn’t become more frequent. When the anger caused by the abduction of the healer diminished – it was replaced by despair, and that despair continued growing ‘till it was bone-deep. Consequentially the ill-conceived plans of escape had fallen from the previously insane daily count to no more than a few times a day. 

The Magician shifted the view within the crystal of ice for the last time. The image of the most interesting prisoner he’d ever had became visible.

Sigyn was sleeping, the enchanted candles burned dimly. Her slumber appeared to be restless as he observed her. Well, he thought to himself, he would soon begin trying to keep her nightmares at bay (and keep away the image of himself from her nightmares as well).          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Mjölnir – a lot of what you've read about it is canon, else is just me playing and creating theories from the canonical facts.
> 
> Mjölnir's name is translated as The Crusher, The Grinder or That Which Smashes, amongst other interpretations.
> 
> There are several versions of Mjölnir's making in the Marvel universe. The one closer to the myths (the myth being this: Dwarf blacksmiths Sindri/Eitri and Brokkr forge the hammer as a bet for Loki's head that they can create something better than the Sons of Ivaldi. They win the bet but Loki gets away with it. Since his head is attached to his neck – the deal is void for they only have claim over his head and cannot harm his neck. So instead the God of Mischief gets his lips sewn shut) and the other is that Odin commissions the weapon from Dvergar smiths (Eitri, Brok and Buri).  
> In the latter version Mjölnir is forged using the core of a star (this is used in the movie as well, with Odin mentioning that Mjölnir was "forged in the heart of a dying star"). In the comics the making of the hammer is so immense that it destroys the star and nearly the planet as well.
> 
> Uru – is a metal ore found in Asgard, in the Marvel universe. Mjölnir was forged from that metal. The uru metal itself is not very durable, however, by canon, it works perfectly with enchantments (as we have seen in the movies Mjölnir though can be rivaled by Captain America's shield, which could be made from the Marvel-made alloys/metals such as Adamantium or Vibranium – there are quite a few versions of the shield in the comic universe).
> 
> And basically the rest is just me working with canon and bending it to my whims.


	21. Dressed in droplets of blood

**Chapter twenty-one**

**_Dressed in droplets of blood_ **

 

 

Three days had passed, the day counting the forth. In the time past Sigyn had received no further information or even seen a Jotunn (or anyone else for that matter). She had spent the days detached and surrounded by wondrous literature (the Asynjur had never been a person in possession of hedonistic qualities, but during her captivity and especially during those three days – it appeared that hedonism was the mode her brain chose to set itself on; it wasn’t a conscious decision on her part though). She’d even grown bold enough to have a stack of books present in the purple-violet chamber. Alas today she could not concentrate on those marvelous volumes that she had right at her side. The unknown and the anxiety were stifling, spawning a million questions at a time.

It was already evening – and still no word from the King. If the beautiful yet odd clock had not been present in the room, then she could have been able to tell the time by the meal count. Breakfast had arrived as usual and though she had tried to eat it – she had failed to keep it down. The tea however had been accepted, both during breakfast and lunch, even though the excessive sweetness of it did not work well with her stomach.

The girl had begun to fret – had she missed something. Was there something that she was supposed to do? It was quite unlikely though, she thought the Frost Giant Ruler to be too prudent to be certain of her knowledge concerning the protocol of Jotunns. Unless of course he wanted her to be late or unprepared, or something along those lines – for some sinister purpose. And like that the cycle of fret continued.

Due to the female’s fragile mental state she had completely forgotten her routine. She hadn’t bathed this morning, nor the day before that – when books had been the only thing on her mind. So she headed to the bath chamber without delay, while trying to force at least a fraction of herself to not feel alarmed at her own forgetfulness. Because truly, had she known when the ceremony was to begin she would have managed her time better – but this self-righteous thought did not quell her.

The washroom did not unsettle her. It wasn’t large or of open planning – leaving no hidden corners for anything sinister to hide in. It was not the same bathing room she had first entered into the purple-violet bedchamber through. This fact further validated the possibility that the room her friends were in could be located on another level, though whether anyone remained in it after the separation she could not possibly know.

The Vanir quickly filled the tub with steaming hot water. Once she found it adequately filled she did not waste a second getting in. Being in the heated water was pure bliss, she took a deep breath and submerged herself beneath its surface. A minute or so passed and she felt something cool brush her arm, she assumed it to be the marble of the bathtub and thought nothing of it.

Soon after that she resurfaced and to her credit when she opened her eyes she neither screamed nor jumped out of the tub. Around her the ‘mock-halos’, the shadowy black tentacles had manifested, poised as though ready to strike. The half-blood Lady knew why they were there, however it was not something that she could convince her frantic heartbeat.

She did not resist the shadows, but she could not relax into them either – only sitting motionlessly and allowing herself to be manipulated like a doll. She had never before seen the coiling hazes in the bath chamber, they had only ever showed beside the vanity. This new development somehow made the bathroom appear less safe, however it didn’t really matter for she doubted that she’d ever step foot in it again anyway.

The dark conjurations washed and pampered her for hours, though the temperature of the water did not drop. She was surrounded by the scents of a dozen of oils, they could have been of flowers, berries and/or herbs – they were mixing, foreign and an overall blur. The washing procedure was a mockery (perhaps a word too harsh; maybe an interpretation or even a coincidence) of an Asgardian tradition. Before the wedding a bride would be bathed, as a ritual to metaphorically cleanse her of her previous careless life in preparation for the marital one. It would be done by female servants – or as she knew from the weddings of her kin – by her sisters. The young woman was highly uncomfortable with any shared bathings, not to mention the kind where she would be washed by others. Therefore she did not know which scenario was better – the one where her siblings would do the cleaning or the one of impersonal shadows doing the work (or seemingly impersonal, for she did not know whether this magical smoke did not require a more direct controlling of the conjurer). 

When the ‘mock-halos’ coaxed the girl-woman to stand she did not fight them. The magical wisps of smoke were not solid whenever they came into contact with her, however she still felt how securely they held her. Even if her full weight was to give in – she doubted the possibility of a fall.

One of the black tendrils had a razorblade – that did not startle Sigyn. She had used one before here, however this one was different. It was much larger and had a long blade – it was just like the ones men used to shave beards back home. There were unfamiliar runes on the blade of the unfolded razor, making her vaguely wonder whether it was enchanted (if so – then probably to slow the growth of hair, she thought).

The removal of hair from her body was unnecessarily meticulous. Not stopping after tending to her armpits and shaving even the fine hairs on her arms, even going as far as getting rid of the few, barely visible ones on her fingers just above the knuckles. The same was with her legs – the razor moved from ankle to hip, not skipping the few hairs on her toes. And as odd as that was, she did not find any reason to be bothered by it. Alas that changed when the tendril holding the blade hovered to a place that was by definition beyond personal (beyond sacred as some would say), a place she paid barely any mind aside from when necessary.

She had to hold back tears of embarrassment and humiliation when the razor touched the apex of her thighs. Fear was not at all present in her psyche – for she did not fear harm from the blade, the tendrils were too precise to make such a miscalculation and cut the tender flesh. The mock-halos continued with their task and she did not feel any physical discomfort as the razor raked her skin, the discomfort rose purely from her mental core. The tentacles moved her legs, placing one at a time on the rim of the tub, to gain perfect access to her most intimate place.

The Asynjur tried to rationalize, to explain this to herself, in order to calm her sizzling nerves. But while she succeeded in finding the reason behind this meticulous ‘grooming’ of her person – the thinking process failed its true goal and backfired.

It was not a common practice in Realm Eternal – the removal of hair from the intimate parts of one’s body (not for females and _especially_ not for males), therefore it was no wonder than she had never even considered such a thing. However it was not impossible that such was done for the sake of preference because women did so many things for the preferences of men. And she knew very little of what Asgardian men favored in females and there was no need to even mention the preferences of Jotunns – for that was an even darker forest of knowledge for her. The removal of bodily hair may as well be tradition in Jotunheim, though it was also possible that inhabitants of said word naturally did not possess any. Each theory was as plausible as the other.

The Lady had not seen a hair on the Ice Jotunn Ruler’s body and with the scarce clothing that he wore – strong hairiness would be blatantly visible. However she had not noticed any hair, neither in the pits of his arms (which were visible when he’d reached for a book), nor below his navel but above the waist of the skirt-garment that he wore. Then again she had never really studied him to such detail (she could not even uphold proper eye contact with the royal man, the same went for looking at every other part of his body), therefore it was fully plausible that she simply had not noticed the presence of fine hairs. However from her hazy memories of the capture and the dizzyingly swift appearances of the palace’s servants at dinnertime – she was aware that most of the creatures of ice did shave their heads fully or partially. Although she did not know whether it was the same with Jotunnesses – for she did not remember laying eyes on one. 

Still whether it was natural or preference – was irrelevant, for it was understandable why her form was being taken care of in this fashion. The healer could not know exactly how her husband-to-be felt about this union (or to be more specific _the_ marital duties), whether it was with aversion or indifference, but it made sense that he would wish to make her as familiar to his own kind as he possibly could. So this was all an attempt to make her... presentable, and though she did not want to displease the Jotunn King – she also did not want to be examined so intimately for these procedures to have such relevance.

The more she thought about the near future – the worse she felt. Misery, humiliation and the heavy clouds of despair appeared to be unwilling to leave any breathing room. And any protective pose that her body, prompted by her panicking mind, wanted to instinctively take – was disallowed by the shadowy tentacles, thus was done tenderly but firmly.

* * *

 

By the time the bathing was over and done with – her body and hair cleaned and dried – Sigyn already felt exhausted. The emotional turbulence she’d experienced left her energy-drained, though she had a niggling feeling that this day was not going to end soon. It would be too fortunate to get another day of freedom; she felt no hope that the wedding had been postponed.

Alas what the girl saw in the bedchamber told her that nothing was forgotten and nothing was postponed. What was left for her was almost the same as the usual when she was to meet the Leader of the Ice Giants. There was a beautifully wrapped package and a note on the bed. The only oddity being the bulk of a covered garment (she assumed it to be the gown) hanging on a hanger, which was tucked behind the top of the door of the wardrobe. She did not think much of the difference however, absentmindedly guessing that perhaps because it was a wedding dress that it was simply too significant to put inside a box.

This situation was too much akin to the almost routine that she was familiar with – to cause any grand anxiety, and so she did not stall and approached the letter. It was nearly the same as always: the same parchment, the same gorgeous handwriting, even the written content was almost identical to what she had received prior. She was ‘invited’ to meet the Jotunn Prince in the Throne Room and there was no time specified, as though to create the illusion that she could arrive when she was ready. But an illusion it certainly was, when even eternity seemed too little time to ready herself for what was to come. The only thing that made it different was that instead of beginning with “Lady Sigyn” it began with “Dear Sigyn” and ended simply with “Loki” – the man’s title left unmentioned.

The note clarified little, but since it could tell the Vanir Princess no more she quickly placed it back on the bedding covered mattress. The customary ‘trick box’ was inspected next, and it was indeed a trick box – seeing as it housed three others. The first one revealed to contain undergarments – a pair of panties. There was nothing out of the norm there (as far as the undergarments she had received before went) – the same tiny cut, just the color differed – it was black. The second box, the smallest one, had earrings in it – long strands of black metal with a row of glinting red stones. She did not recognize them instantly, they weren’t garnets, rubies, pezzottaite, rubelitte, fire opals or any other of the better known gemstones. They shined like diamonds – only that they were the color of blood, which was, as far as she knew, not a hue to be found in adamants. The last and largest box contained shoes – platform-ed, with dainty straps and of black lacquered leather, seemingly not much different from what she had worn before. However they were definitely not that – for the heels were truly a thing to be frightened of, being probably the length of her palm – from the beginning of it to the tip of her middle finger. She refused to fret about how she was going to walk in them and placing the items neatly on the bed moved to the gown that hung from the dresser.

The Lady removed the baggy fabric that covered the dress from her gaze, idly wondering what it would be. When the garment was revealed to her eyes she felt a pure hit of regret. Why had she not said something about what she ‘wanted’ the dress to be when she had had the chance, instead leaving it for him to decide? Though whether she would have actually done so if she’d known – was a different matter entirely, for her ‘doubt’ of his taste could have been considered to be disrespectful.

Her hand flew to cover her mouth to stop the helpless sob, which was vehemently trying to escape.  This gown (if it could be called that) was like nothing he had given her before, and though she was sure that its worth was higher than that of the others – the fact did not change a thing. If the other dresses were risqué to unimaginable heights, then this one required a category of its own.

The word clothing in anyone’s mind would be instantly associated with fabric, however this ‘thing’ had _none_ incorporated it in. The short (so short that it would not even reach her knees – and she was petite) gown was formed solely of thin strands of black metal (which were only flexible because the metal was cut into small parts and linked with tiny hoops) and sanguine jewels. She had been very exposed to the royal male’s eyes before, but now she would meet him ( _be married to him_ ) virtually _naked_. A cruel thought mocked her, saying that if she thought that she’d only be bared on the wedding night – _she was_ _wrong_.

The poor woman was beyond collectedness, threading on the borderland, precariously close to the edge of a panic attack. She tried her best not to break down, attempting to gather her fractured thoughts of Norns and fate, and how she should accept it (for better or worse).

With trembling hands she was about to take the dress, however the mock-halos were languid yet swift to intervene. She had not fought them, not even once, and she was not going to do so now. The tendrils tentatively yet quite quickly undressed her of the underdress they had robed her in bare minutes prior. They stopped not and removed the delicate snow white panties as well, leaving her shaking like a leaf and as naked as the day she’d been born. However they did not leave her in that state for more than was necessary to put on the onyx undergarments and begin enveloping her in the short ‘gown’. Then went the shoes (tall, but not nearly tall enough to have her eye to eye with her soon-to-be husband); the jewelry was left for the very end.

It did not take her mind long to realize the involvement of magic, a fact that eradicated many of the seemingly (when compared to everything on the grand scale of things) small issues. The strapped footwear caused her no actual trouble to make the few steps to the vanity along the carpeted floor, the unsteadiness was purely mind-made. It would be too uncharacteristic of the kingly Frost Giant to not take something into account and fail to incorporate magic there where it was possible. The dress was also not void of spell-work: its body – solely of very large, masterfully cut stones and delicate metal strands – was not as heavy as it appeared to be; she did not experience any natural drafts (meaning that she would not catch an illness of cold in the iced-over Throne Room); it did not sway as much as it was supposed under normal conditions – a slight jingle remained but otherwise it stuck to the upper part of her physique (covering the tips of her breasts, alas just barely, and the rest of the pale flesh was barely obscured) and lastly – the metal and the gems did not chafe her.

Alas as great as magic was – it was not all-powerful, or at least it could be said that there were small details that had been left unnoticed or simply deemed to trifle to fuss over. She sensed the spell laid over the gown trying to convince her that she was fully dressed and that all was well, but the illusion failed to deceive her and she felt as naked as she was. The fire runes (which she hadn’t seen but was aware of their existence nonetheless) enchanted onto the dress did not hide the coldness of the meta. Neither did the enchantments conceal the sensation of the metal’s movement along her form.

She remembered how as a child she had played with her mother’s jewels and how they felt heavy and cold, how her flesh then turned into gooseflesh (it did not do so now, but the effect was much too same). The female recalled now (though she hadn’t quite understood the feeling then) how wrong wearing Freya’s jewelry had felt, how it did not seem that it was her place in life to wear such – it was exactly the same as now. This wrongness was absolute and knowing how her life was not to be of jewels and luxury – she wondered morbidly how horrendously was it to change to actually feel as her own fate and what calamity would shift the lots.

Sigyn avoided her reflection in the mirror as she sat at the table of the vanity. The helpers of smoke were there once more, tending to the appearance of her emotion violated person. Pale lunar hair was half raised but not up-done into a chignon, turned into a masterpiece which the young healer had no heart to appreciate. Face powdered to snow white and at the same time fingernails and even toenails varnished with crimson paint. Eyes covered with shimmering white and grey paint, a thick, curved black line drawn on both eyelids. Lips dyed in the color of blood, sharp-lined and demonic. Heavy earrings were left to dangle from her ears.

When the painting was finished and the mock-halos had disappeared – she finally met her reflected twin. With all the feelings drowning in the tidal wave created by the sheer number of them – she did not know what to feel about what she saw. It was bewildering because for the first time the person sitting in the mirror was her – she recognized herself. The girl-woman though saw through the veil the toil of the black tentacles had created: she saw a broken little creature, sorrowful and looking how it shouldn’t have looked – with eyes full of unshed tears (because she couldn’t cry – it would upset and anger _him_ ), with face-paint of courtesans and covered in jewelry that did not cover her modesty, that did not know what modesty was.

She simply sat there for minutes unnumbered, waiting for salvation or direction – she did not know which. Alas nothing came – neither a person nor a sign. Having hope was not something to be achieved in her current state. No, she was not waiting for an escape – she was waiting for an ‘executioner’ to take her to the ‘scaffold’. But time went on unstopped and no one came.

It was odd and at the same time it wasn’t at all. It was too foolish to believe the Frost Jotunn to follow any tradition (and she was positive that even Jotunheim had something about the processions of weddings – surely it had to be so). There were no servants, no something to lead her to the Throne Room, to make sure that she would make it to the ceremony. However if she turned about the thought in her head – she found that she could see why there was no one coming. The Prince did not think that she would dare try escaping (though she did not mean escape from the Winter Palace or the world itself) – he simply did not think that she would dare to not show up. Alas he was not wrong; if not for the protection of her own self from his wrath – then for that of her friends. And why send guards to bring her, she was not a prisoner – she was a dog, and a dog responded to a call, it obeyed its orders. The metaphor did not anger her, nor did it upset her – she accepted the truth and was content with it (if not with the situation itself). She wasn’t taught to be capable of disobedience – and she wasn’t.

The Asynjur left the purple-violet chamber without an escort, ignoring her petrifying fear and concentrating into the faces of those she was not to see again. 

* * *

 

The burning torches showed her the way and though the dark corridors were tempting – she did not dare step into the shadows. A getaway from this accursed dome and these desolate lands was not possible. And running away to hide in a corner would win nothing but punishment – should the King himself be forced to retrieve her (and she did not want to think how dark the man could be, she did not put maliciousness past him).

With every step closer she felt colder. It was not a physical sensation, the magic kept her body temperature at norm (also denied her body the ability to sense and be affected by outside temperature). It was a visual and mental (perhaps even an emotional) sensation – she was cold. Each step became heavier, each breath more labored, each heartbeat more agonizing...

Her palms were splayed on the gigantic doors, through which she did not want to have to enter at all cost.

Dressed in droplets of blood the waxen doll entered the hall, and straight into the closing palm of the coldhearted King...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bathing rituals before weddings – were common in most of Europe. Of course those were different in various parts of the continent, I've mentioned only the general idea. The idea of bathing had various meanings – like the 'washing away' of the previous life, carelessness of youth or even the previous wedding (divorce was possible by the old laws of the Northern countries). In a later, more religious, sense – it could have been interpreted as the 'washing away' of sins.


	22. And the royals don’t bleed blue

**Chapter twenty-two**

**_And the royals don’t bleed blue_ **

****

****

Loki felt the Vanir Princess vividly while she was still quite far from the Throne Room. He did not even try to do it, there was simply no need – not when she was that close to him. The Master of Magic sent out a slimmer of his energy to greet hers, in an attempt to coax her aura to play. Alas it remained as unresponsive as ever, hidden deep and frightened in the shell of her body, ignoring his every temptation.

There was no actual requirement of him to do so, he already knew the pattern of Sigyn’s energy well, but he was not allowed to entwine his power with hers (not that the young Lady consciously knew of it), he could not learn her aura more intimately. Of course it was not correct to claim it impossible, however the only way to do so was by force – and that was not in his nature (or at least not when it concerned her, everyone else that stood against him were fair game – but she was not standing against him; the girl was pliable and her convictions moldable with ease, he only needed to direct her to a different path and whatever change would come next – well, she would have all the freedom to decide how to shape herself).

It had been awhile since the Jotunn Prince had willed away the helpers he’d sent her, he had thought that it would take her longer to leave the chamber, it had barely been a half-hour after that. It was not to say that he was disappointed nor was it true that he was glad for it, he had half-hoped that she would take more time to make herself leave. The woman had not even stepped foot from the path that was left for her to follow – and that was not saying much of her character. Her stubbornness was too meek to note and her obedience a bit too great to give him any satisfaction at her speedy arrival. On one hand she wasted no time giving in to his whims, but on the other hand – she always came to him without delay not because she had a wish to see him.

The Ruler turned on his heel as he heard the grand doors opening heavily, a greeting was already on his lips and second to be followed by a quip about already thinking that she wouldn’t come. But he thought better of the latter, as he was quite certain that she was not in the state necessary to appreciate his jesting. The words died on his lips as his sanguine gaze met her reluctance painted visage.

Not for the first time and not for the last he proudly commended himself for his impeccable taste. The dress was truly wondrous, the stones – magnificent. It was no wonder why they had been his mother’s favorite gems (if the amount that could be found in her jewelry was any indicator). They were called by many names – fire diamonds, red diamonds, blood diamonds... A gift of the cousin world of Muspellheim, the pride of the fire Jotnar. They were in abundance in his treasury, having been there for a millennium or longer, so he hadn’t had to look far and wide from what to have the female’s garb fashioned.

But the stones themselves were empty, pretty but empty. Without the young woman wearing them – their worth in his eyes was nearly worthless. However with her wearing them like this, well, they were _priceless_.

His magic went without any necessity of his direct observing, he felt it well enough to know what his spell-crafted familiars were doing. So despite the many times that they had helped the healer-girl prepare – he had never actually seen the process. The same was with their aid of today, specifically he had in his mind the aid she’d received while bathing. Therefore he had not seen more of her than the clothes she had worn previously had revealed. Now it was the most of her flesh that he’d witnessed. It was a sight to be enthralled by, completely explaining his momentary disability of speech.

Her nude skin was barely covered by the strings of heavy red adamants. Legs utterly bared for his treacherous gaze and everything else fiendishly uncensored, pale and perfect. Even her small and pert chest, soft and sensitive – he was sure, was nearly completely naked for his eyes alone. And her face, though wearing an expression he wasn’t too fond of (too frightened, too panicked), was just as divine as her physique.

The Ice Giant Leader forced himself to exhale softly and to actually utter a word.

“You look gorgeous, my dear. I am afraid that words are insufficient to describe your otherworldly effulgence” he said as he outstretched his hand, beckoning her closer, beckoning her to take it.

Without words, with an unsure step and an even more unsure hand – she took his. Instinctively recoiling as his icy fingers grasped her dainty, little hand.

With great difficulty the Frost Jotunn tore his red orbs from the stunning Princess. He hadn’t lied – she looked breathtakingly beautiful, but he had already known that. He led her to an uplifted podium that now centered the huge hall. The platform had an altar of sorts, a surface that housed a scroll and other items that were necessary to complete the contract.

In every realm within and beyond Yggdrasill marriages were contracts – agreements – in other words. Their terms and conditions differed of course, often being unwritten – as was the case in Realm Eternal, where everyone knew what such a union entailed. In the world his bride had lived the ‘contracts’ were all the same, with the same banal requirements: the wife was to give her utterly loyalty and care for her husband, provide heirs and the husband was to offer protection and security for his wife and children – it was so _primitive_ that it was gag-worthy (and the Aesir _dared_ to call Giants primitive). The agreements that the Ice Jotnar created, though likewise mostly unwritten, were always formed because of much more interesting and unique reasons than that of continuing one’s lineage. Written contracts were rare and a thing that was said to be more prominent amongst the royalty, one had been signed by his predecessors. However he had not managed to find the document and had only learned the basic outlines of it from his mother’s journals.

Prince Loki released her hand only when they stood at the altar. He intended to unroll the scroll but realized that he had not explained anything to the soon-to-be Queen of Jotunheim.

“You see, my dear, to put it in simple terms – every marriage is a deal between two parties. In a lot of worlds the requirements of each party are well known and spoken in word, however in my world the vows are written and a contract is signed”

He turned to her and half-smiled (the smile a bit too honestly mournful for his own taste).

“Or at least it used to be so, a long time ago” he paused and his gaze wandered away from her delectable form “I had researched these contracts as best as I could and compiled something that I think will suit our union best”

The young man said no more and unrolled the paper. He held the top corner pressed with his finger as the bottom of the scroll rolled down onto the ground. It was long and full of truthful content, though he would not allow his soon-to-be _wife_ (the word sounded odd to him as it was not actually used by the Jotnar) to read it. He was aware that she would not quite grasp most of it, so otherworldly for her it would be (especially since it was nothing like marriage vows put to written word and was more like a contract of partnership between ruling Monarchs).

The male leaned slightly to the female and whispered to her.

“And remember, should you ever want a ceremony – I find no reason why one should not occur later” his words only gained an unsure nod, but it was enough because it reassured him that she had heard what he’d said.

With an unconsciously careful hand (a habit that could only have been present in an individual who had spent years handling eons old texts) he moved the scroll so he could reach its end, where the parchment greedily awaited to devour the ink of their signatures. He took note of the swift movement that the Vanir’s eyes were making, in vain trying to read as much as she could (alas his gentle maneuvering of the scroll was too quick for her to read out anything coherent).

Her orbs widened and he already knew what had shocked her so (it was no wonder that he was vaguely aware at which part something was written – seeing as he had composed the contract himself). He ceased his movements so that she could clearly see it for herself.

“Yes” he told her rather smugly, an inaudible laughter detectable in the word, answering an unasked inquiry.

At that moment the King’s whole presence demanded her spring green eyes to look at him, and look at him they did. Her lovely orbs were peculiarly alarmed, so he allowed his silver tongue to explain.

“Divorce is a fully possible here. Though rare but viable all the same. Here” he pointed idly “Are the terms of it. It would have been only briefly mentioned – were our union the same as any other. However as King and Queen – our territory of influence touches the whole realm, therefore it had to be more defined so that a feud would not threaten our people. A divorce is a definite end of a union (though there is nothing to forbid the individuals to remarry each other again). It is, in a way, tricky however – for a divorce is a separation in the personal sense between the wedded ones, it does not necessary end the alliance between the two. It can also be in reverse – the partnership between the Rulers ended, but their union – not. It is all very bureaucratic and many scenarios are possible, but that however is not the main focus in this segment of our contract”

The girl-woman was still listening to him intently, however while he saw that she understood what he said – it was too foreign for her to comprehend fully. He continued with his explanation.

“Should it come to separation, whether that in the personal sense or that of the monarchical alliance, the lands can be divided and the Rulers retreat to their respective domes... Do you remember, I have told you about the Winter and the Summer Palaces and what their significance is?” the girl whispered her affirmation and he resumed speaking “Here it elaborates on how it all would be divided – should we ever wish to terminate our marriage. The Summer Palace and everything that belongs to its sphere of influence – this I give to you, but nothing will be taken away should we divorce. Though the fortress itself is currently uninhabitable – I will change that soon, its reconstruction will begin before long... However I do hope that our union will never come to that” he ended with a charming half-smile.

The weight of what he was implying did escape the Lady – and he saw that clearly. It was all true, none of it was deception. However by gifting her the Summer Palace he did not compromise himself in anyway. The power that he’d give her could not rival his own – making it a potent yet at the same time an impotent token. It was how it was supposed to be done, a way that made certain that neither King nor Queen would be left utterly vulnerable should their alliance fall apart – though he was sure that the woman would not believe this failsafe.

Baffling her more was of no use because understanding she could not attain. The Frost Giant Prince resumed rolling the scroll, without stopping or slowing – that way disallowing the tiny female to struggle with foreign concepts any longer. Soon he got to the bottom of it, releasing the parchment he took hold of the readied quill. He quickly brought the knife-sharp metal tip, attached to the feather, along the palm of his left hand. The deal needed the right type of ink to be sealed.

Sigyn’s mental battles were brought to an abrupt end when she saw the man willingly injure his hand. The reason was quite clear to her, though why ordinary ink could not be used she did not know. She stood transfixed watching the blood well from the wound. The feeling of surprise overtook her, though on all accounts it shouldn’t have – during their capture she had seen not one but many Jotunns fall. And still she was surprised to find an illogical assumption go to waste as the life-liquid vividly contrasted with the ice creature’s skin. Perhaps it was because the slight Giant was so much like a myth incarnated did she believe a fable, a line torn straight from a fairytale – but it was not true, neither in this world nor in the next. The tales told that royal blood was blue (and wouldn’t it be logical that the only creature to actually bleed blue would be the royal of blue-skinned beings?), but it was obvious now that not even the Jotunn King bled blue.

The Highest Lord of the Cold World dipped the tip into the sanguine liquid and placed his signature in its designated place. The cursive intricate and well-practiced. With his agreement already turned to written fact he seemingly idly twirled the quill between his fingers – and the blooded metal was pristine clean once more.

He outreached his bleeding hand in request to take hers, though she was shivering like a leaf she did not hesitate overmuch to comply. Careful as to not smear his blood on her skin, firmly yet with the very tips of his fingers he held her trembling hand palm up. The male did the same as he had to his own flesh, the pen’s tip was sharp and the movement quick but her flinch betrayed the sting. He dabbed the stinger a few times before handing the quill to her.

However the feathered writing tool itself was no ordinary one and the ink’s replacement with blood – not a pointless, morbid fancy either. The Master Magician had enchanted it, should any of the contract’s terms be breached or broken – he would be alerted. He gave the former Asynjur the respect she was worth but that did not mean that he was taking chances, for in the end even year-worn trust he did not believe in (and in his life there had never been one worthy to gain his anyway).

Her attempts at gathering herself were as bare as her body, however they all fell flat because the tremors that shook her form did not cease. It made him idly wonder whether she needed assistance in signing the document. But her signature, panic-fractured yet still beautiful, was now below his – having gotten there without any aid. He had to reign in the mischievous euphoria that threatened to seep through the seams of his being as the final curve was penned down. He had known that she would be his – and she was his, _all his_.

The Ice Jotunn took the quill she offered shakily and after cleaning it again with a spell (having won against the whim to clean the blood away with his tongue) returned it to its rightful hold. He rolled up the contract and began heating black wax with the bluish white flames that erupted at his call from his injured palm.

The Vanir bride observed as the black droplets fell onto the document, forming an oval-esque stain into which a seal was pressed in. Whether it was a cliché or not she did not know, but the royal seal depicted an elaborate snowflake. The deal was now signed and sealed, and she felt the Master Magician’s power will it to float in between his palms. He made a slow and graceful hand motion and the contract disappeared as though smoke dispersed, and she thought that it disappeared to never be seen by her again. To what she had signed – she would never come to know.

He then took her limp hand into his and she succeeded in pushing away the instinct to recoil at his touch (a wife should never recoil from her husband’s touch – her mind (un)helpfully advised). She did flinch however when she felt his blood entering her bloodstream – a thing she should not have felt in the first place. Though he had altered his bodily temperature – it seemed that his blood was less susceptible to this ability; it wasn’t harmfully cold but it was still ice cold. In seconds she felt her injured hand and its fingers growing numb in needle-ridden cold, the wound itself felt iced-over. A horrific thought permeated her mind – that before morning his blood was not going to be the only part of him to have entered her body.

“Would you do the honors of healing our hands?” he inquired, his words followed by an enigmatic smile.

The healer should have answered vocally by the demand of protocol, though since her _husband_ hadn’t seemed to mind her non-vocal responses she simply began mending the broken flesh. And it was a blessing that her shaken state did not jeopardize her healing abilities, it took her no time at all to return their skins to their unmarred glory.

With the healing done he broke the contact, slightly reluctantly – though she didn’t notice. She began flexing the fingers of her numb hand and hoped that she did so discreetly. The Frost Giant did not appear to notice as he was busy conjuring magic. He used the same spell, however this time he did not put away an object but retrieved it. And amidst languid black smoke a circlet appeared. It floated for a second before descending softly into his waiting hands.

It was not to be the only crown that _his_ Sigyn would wear, it was only to be the first. The design was similar to that of the ones he favored, though hers incorporated greater amount of detail. The intricately woven strands of silver were many and had tiny metal leaves (for nature was an inseparable part of the Vanir, he chose it to be represented rather than her Dvergar heritage, probably only something ostentatious could represent the greed possessed by Dwarf kin – and that did not match _his_ new Queen at all), there was only one gemstone – the centerpiece – a big green diamond, to match her spring green eyes of course.

Without words or grand exclamations he placed the circlet upon her head, crowing her Queen without any attempt at ceremonialism. He grasped her chin between his fingers and pressed a long kiss to her unresponsive lips.

She did not believe that the cold that she felt could grow any stronger, but every moment past chilled her ever more. The crown was heavy (but it wasn’t) and his kiss could freeze salted waters. She hadn’t expected it (she hadn’t known what to expect, she was simply too frightened and too paralytic) and any thought to even attempt to reciprocate had only appeared when his lips were no longer pressed on her own. She was not aware whether he had altered his temperature again or whether it was just another illusion, but her lips felt agonizingly frostbitten. In her head it seemed that where his fingers had touched her chin rested purple marks (but of course, there was no sign left by them on her pale skin).

King Loki did not step away as he half-whispered, half-spoke to her. He was too close and the partial grin that he wore showed his teeth too clearly. His mouth wasn’t full of jagged fangs (as she had once thought, led astray by fear induced illusions), but they weren’t _normal_ either – his teeth were sharper and seemingly layered.

“Now then, _Queen Sigyn_ , would you care for something to eat?”

* * *

 

The dinner had went by with no vast differences from any other that she had shared with him... _him_ (as much as her Asgardian upbringing demanded to call the young Giant her husband, it was difficult to do so even in her mind). With the exception of it having taken place in another dining hall and not the one with the black décor, but she hadn’t paid much attention to the room – therefore it was all a blur in her memory. Of course it was not to forget that the dinner’s similarity had been hindered by the circlet, which rested on her head and its presence she could not un-feel, also the dress that covered nothing and felt so alien to the sensation of fabric – she couldn’t help her hands that had constantly tried to shield her form. The Ruler himself though had acted as though it was all the same, becoming his polite, chatty self.

After dinner (the food of which she had barely touched) they had moved closer to the big hearth that was in the chamber. With wine glasses (his needing refilling often, hers – remaining half-full) they had sat there conversing. The distance between them was that of an outstretched arm’s length and he had not made any attempt to touch her. As always the man was full of tales – she wasn’t sure that she’d remember – and interesting facts, she had tried to contribute to the conversation, but it had not been easy to do.

The wedding ceremony had taken place at late evening and their sitting had taken up hours. The girl-woman was too alert and too tense to be exhausted. Though she had anticipated it, she was still caught in a flinching surprise when he said that it was time to retire for the day. And all she could think of was that it was _too soon_ and that she _didn’t want to do this_.

The Prince (King!) took her by her hand as he rose from the carpet, his hold firmly confirming its presence but being light at the same time. He had probably correctly assumed that she would not have been able to move from the spot if not for his grasp; she was petrified with great fear and unwilling to leave anywhere.

Many hardly distinguishable and unfamiliar corridors were passed until they both stood before the doors to his chambers. He opened them with the most impeccable of manners and beckoned her inside. His wordless and graceful gestures fell upon a mind plagued with caustic fright, one unable to appreciate them.

The trembling creature (who thought herself to not belong in this room or in this palace for that matter) stepped into the bedchamber. It was most possibly decorated as marvelously as the rest of the dome (well, the part of this fortress that she had seen), but she just didn’t see it. Her eyes were chained to the gargantuan bed (big enough to house more than two Jotunn-sized Jotunns). It probably had bedposts that held a canopy with the curtains tied to them (it was just too difficult to perceive things at this moment). The bedcover was fashioned out of black fur (possibly especially for her; the dress was enchanted so she had no actual idea of the temperature a-linger in the bedroom – it might as well be very cold) – however that was the extent of what she managed to take in.

While she stood (seemingly forgotten – alas that was too much to hope for) in the middle of the very large chamber, the owner of both bedchamber and castle already stood by the side of the bed. The weight of the crown vanished from her head and she saw his do the same. The straps of her shoes undid themselves and she stepped out of them carefully (her balance was skewed, therefore she had to take extra care to not tumble down), her earrings and the pins in her hair disappearing without leaving a trace. Though that was the end of it – no further magical aid was given to her, however the man himself did not stand as impotently as she. He did not spare a glance her way as he undid the clasps to his clothing and the ‘skirt’ now laid on the ground and there was no hesitance as his undergarments followed.

Her eyes instantly went someplace else, not wanting to see his naked form. Her peripherals did not provide the view that she did not want to see – as he stood facing the bed and soon languidly moved the covers (that blocked her view further) and climbed into the bed.

The female Vanir remained where she was, her green orbs (against her will) were forced by ‘protocol’ to return to him squarely. She could not believe that he had expected her to do the same as he did – he had to know that she needed direction, she always needed direction – else eternal indecisiveness ruled her. But of course he was not a forgetful or an assuming person and so she heard his voice ring in the room – but it was without hint of annoyance or exasperation. 

“Undress, _Sigyn_ , and come to bed”

His words weren’t menacing but they _were_ and his sinister crimson eyes testified that this was exactly how he’d planned it – he wanted to _watch_ her disrobe. If she hadn’t felt sick before (and she had) then the feeling had just grown tenfold.

She had the direction that she needed, alas that did not make the request (command) any easier to comply with. Her hands shook even worse when she removed the straps of the gown. Once both no longer rested on her shoulders – the dress fell down. The fall heavy and all too lucid on her fright sensitized flesh, the metal and diamonds scratching at her skin as though with sharp little talons. The sound of the piece of clothing meeting the ground was loud in a muffled way, a fall of stones priceless. But though the fall was rich, why did it feel cheap?

Her hands still trembled for dear life, her body learning the lesson of cold with hard precision. Daring not to stall (she did not know what the Ice Giant’s expression showed, she couldn’t look at him) she pushed her undergarments down her legs. The lacy onyx fabric descended down without a sound.

There hadn’t been an attempt to make the act of undressing enticing, however his red orbs were greedy as though she was a master seductress. It was irrelevant however, it all only made the young woman feel worse. She was naked and more aware of the fact than she had ever been in her entire life, she wanted to put any kind of clothing back on and run away as far from this bedroom as possible.

The rest of his order did not escape her so she followed it. He watched her as she walked, robbing her of her dignity and devouring her person with eyes alone. Orbs sliding from head to toe, constantly lingering – but not as though in evaluation more like in appreciation (however it could have also been just a well-placed mask, a façade to make improper intentions appear more proper than they were), only returning to capture her gaze once her body was hidden by the coverlet and its silky underlings.

The bedding was cold, seemingly colder than even the room itself. The bed was huge and (though she wanted) she did not allow herself to stay as far away from her _husband_ as she could. But to make herself move close enough to feel his bare skin – she could not, so she scooted at less than an outstretched arm’s length from his form.

The white, lined with pale blue, flames of the candles extinguished themselves, drowning everything in darkness. And the Lady half-expected to see his eyes gleam red in the dark – they did not and everything was darkness. Alas it appeared that while she could not see a thing, the Jotunn Leader did not have any difficulty seeing her.

She felt the sure journey his hand made to situate itself in her hair instead. And though she was pliable and unresisting – she also could not be coaxed to move a muscle, therefore her weight fell to her scalp as he tugged her by hair to himself. Her face met his chest and the hand did not leave her hair, its presence threatening to drag once more. His skin was ice cold and she already knew what he wanted her to do and just where he was going to pull her head to.

Sigyn had heard of this not once, unwillingly hearing well-audible tales, both mournful and not, from Aesir court-women. She understood what the male needed her to do as she would be pushed down his torso, and what he was going to tell her to do once he would realize how hopelessly comatose was her state without detailed directions. Her hands twisted in a hysterical way, entire musculature tensing as though from a severe bout of cramps and she couldn’t help the pitiful keen that escaped her.

She was already gagging as though something had been forced down her throat, as it soon would be _. Oh Norns, she didn’t want to do this, Norns, she didn’t want to do this!_ Acidic bile was rising up her esophagus, tears gathering in the corners of her tightly shut eyes. The disgust and humiliation were rivaled by the fear that she felt. The fear was more immense than she could ever thought it to be – and _she did not want this, she didn’t want it!_

It did not matter that this was her husband, it did not matter that she had to do what he bade her to do – _she did not want it_. She was seconds from vomiting. And the muscles of her body were crawling off her bones, crawling away to curl into a painful ball somewhere in her stomach and intestines – but there simply wasn’t enough space for them there, yet they were still trying to cram themselves in.

Time passed. She did not realize its passing. She was trapped in a moment.

Hours later and it was truly several hours later (though again she wasn’t aware of that) did she realize that she had not been moved. There were many things that she hadn’t noticed tonight, hadn’t comprehended. The girl had not felt how careful and soft his hold had been when he’d moved her, she had not realized that it was the laxness of her body that had made it hurt. She had not noticed that his grasp had released her hair the moment her head touched his chest – this all escaped her even now. 

The Monarch’s hand was heavy as it rested on her head, as though without intention to harm her in anyway. It created the illusion that he was going to stroke her hair, and not in the way a patron does to a courtesan in praise that she had serviced him well or like a husband to a wife – no, it was as though to soothe a frightened child. She could not detect anything carnal in the way that his hand rested there – and that she could not comprehend.

It was impossible that he had forgotten or even changed his mind – he was not that kind of person. He was not indecisive, if this creature wanted something – he took it and nothing could stop him from attaining what he wished. It was as if he did not even want this. She couldn’t understand this, it didn’t make sense!

But perhaps it did, she thought as she tried to swallow her tears (and keep the incoming ones at bay) as lightly as possible, perhaps it had all been a double bluff, a game of propriety. Maybe he wanted _it_ – but he did not want _her_ , just putting on a faux of appreciation and pretending to play husband and wife with her – but without the ability to actually trick himself enough to overcome the disgust of actually... _taking_ her. This idea should have made her glad or at least calm her – it didn’t, for she just couldn’t know where he would cast her out tomorrow if it were in fact true.

His skin, where her face was resting on his chest and where her _naked_ body touched the side of his, was still cold. Having escaped her greatest moment of dread and fear (for her own person) to count, she was now more aware. The half-blood could hear the Jotunn’s heartbeat, it was slow – slower than hers (even when hers was beating under normal circumstances, for that was definitely not the case now). She could not tell if he was asleep or not, and if he was – then without a doubt because he had allowed himself to slumber and not because he had fallen into it unwillingly. It was pointless to guess (or to look up – firstly because a movement could wake him up – and then he might actually want something too revolting to name or consider from her, and secondly – because it was too dark to see), there was no way to know anyway. She did not dare to make a move for she was resting on a predator.

Her Asgardian teachings screamed at her that her duty was not done, that she had proved herself to be a bad wife and that the marriage itself had not been _consummated_ (the last was simply unheard of!) – she could not accept those screeches, even if she would try. The fact that her wedding night was nothing like a wedding night – only relaxed her burnt nerves and made her hope that she was safe for the night.

The girl-woman’s hands untwisted and physique relaxed only when she fell asleep. The fear was simply too exhausting for her mind to upkeep and experience with such agony. But it was not sleep that drove her conscious to fade, no, it was her subconscious that willed everything to shut off. Sigyn passed out.


	23. Let the morning fix it better

**Chapter twenty-three**

**_Let the morning fix it better_ **

 

 

As coherency slowly returned the only thing that Sigyn felt was the pounding in her head, as though it were filled with stones grinding against one another and colliding into the walls of her skull. This kind of waking was not a rarity these days, so she thought nothing of it. With her eyes still shut she rubbed at them in an attempt to rid herself of the vestiges of sleep, rising into a seated position simultaneously. The young woman was about to stifle a yawn for it only to be replaced by an alarmed gasp. As she rose the silken sheet and the fur coverlet slipped down her naked skin, the cold air caressing her bare flesh violently. Her spring green orbs opened instantly, her hand darting to grip the covers and bringing them to shield her once more.

Memories of yesterday returned with vengeance, making her aware that it was truly not a nightmare too vivid. She quickly glanced to her side – but found no one there. Realizing that she was more or less in the center of the monstrous bed – she looked at the other side of it as well. There was nothing; she was alone. Alas the fact gave her no sense of relief. Just because he... her _husband_ (she tried to repress a shudder at that word) was not in the bed, did not mean that he was not going to return. It was entirely possible that the Jotunn was in the bathing chambers and would be coming back soon.

The Vanir Lady sat there, waiting and waiting – each second of it morbid and threatening. But time went on (she was not aware of how long it had been) and no sign of the sorcerer-King was presenting itself. While her anxiety was loathe to abate, the stillness of her thoughts however was of a different mind. If the happenings of yesterday and days before – counting from the minute she had set foot into the Cold World – would have truly been a dream, one leaving an ill aftertaste, the questions it would have created would be of no importance to answer. However since this nightmare was reality, truer than truth itself, the answers to the questions were vital to the future, for only they were able to predict even a second of the yet-to-come. Therefore she had no will to contest the decision of her mind to mull over those queries. Although she knew full well that her thinking would not yield any answers.

It was not to say that the girl was not relieved by what had _not_ happened last night, despite the unyielding Asgardian thinking imprinted on her. A husband had to take his wife on their wedding night – he simply _had_ to. The opposite was absolutely unthinkable. She hadn’t expected the intensity of emotion that she had experienced that night, even more so when _nothing_ had happened. _If it would have_... Norns, she did not wish to know how that would have felt! As horrifying thoughts and wave after wave of negativity were ready to consume her alive – she knew she had to change her line of thinking, lest the worry devour her life.

She could not understand why it had not happened, why he hadn’t staked his claim over what was now rightfully his. If his words and actions were to be taken for consideration, his compliments and the way he tended to look at her – it would lead to the assumption that the royal man was interested in her. That he appreciated something about her, mayhap there was even a little bit of attraction there. Believing that though would clash with his actions or lack of actions, to be specific. So why had he not taken her? It was incredibly difficult to tell. The female thought that if it were any other person – she might have had a better chance of understanding their reasoning, but as it was him – it was a task impossible to accomplish. Perhaps it was all a ruse, the possibility was there (maybe even more than just that).

She realized that there had been a lie (or at the very least an assumption) that the Frost Giant Ruler had told – which was no different than what she suspected to be pure truths uttered by him. Taking the two she compared. It was unlikely that the little tidbits of information about Jotunheim he had shared were untrue (at least some of it had to be genuine, there was simply no logic in it being otherwise). And then there were the Monarch’s words said to the Aesir Prince about the Odinfather not caring enough about his child to start a war for his sake. Neither of them differed from the other. And the ex-Asynjur was aware that the latter was untrue – the Ice Jotunn could not possibly know of Asgard’s King’s relationship with his Heir – (and though she could hardly say that she knew the Allfather well) she knew for fact that Thor was valued by his father. The key of the comparison being that the creature of ice had spoken both of these things with the same confidence, both were told with the air of undeniable certainty. She highly doubted that the cunning Leader of the Giants of this land was truly certain that the God of Thunder meant little to the God of Wisdom. Else the girl-woman was sure that he would not have used this chance to bargain with King Odin for something precious in exchange for the Golden Prince’s safe return – meaning that he was aware of the uncertainty of his words. However there was simply no sign of that uncertainty to be detected in the way he had said them. Therefore his deceit was undetectable. This fact made Sigyn realize that _everything_ he had said could be vile lies.   

But if he was utterly uninterested in her, then why did he continue with his misleading ways even after the marriage contract had been sealed? After that point there was really no need for continuance of these mock-pleasantries. There was no need of him to bring her to his bedchamber or share his bed with her, even if only for slumber. He could have left her where she was or even thrown her somewhere less pleasant – he owned her now, no one could oppose that.

The ex(?)-healer pondered over it a little more. Perhaps he simply liked the game, liked to pretend being something he was not. After all he did speak of his love for literature, even that of the fictitious kind – and a being awed by written word may as well be interested in putting a little theater for himself, a play of husband and wife. However all play-pretend had its boundaries and while he could enjoy the game, creating the illusion of truth – he was not able to give into it completely. And so the duties of the marital bed simply went over those lines he had drawn for himself. 

Then again the half-blood knew nothing of Jotunn culture, their customs may have differed greatly from those of Asgard. Therefore the wedding night here might be less sacred and purposeful than in the Golden World. There was also another possibility to consider. From what she had gathered of the young man, at least occasionally, he sounded whimsical – it could simply have been a thing of mood. She would not put tradition-breaking past him.

Her thoughts did not cease, probable explanations springing to life like early blossoms after a warm spring day. The Vanir gave them all a hearing, analyzed them and tried to eliminate the largely implausible ones. Still, there were too many and all were only the toil of her mind, they didn’t have any basis. Time was flying on favorable winds – fast and seemingly unnoticeable, yet it did not yield any true answers that she sought.

The senselessness of her thinking finally caught up with her and with that led to the full return of her anxiety. There was no clock that she could see as to orient herself of the actual time, but her offbeat internal clock told that it was already late morning. Maybe it was time to put to rest her fears of him returning. Perhaps it was already safe to assume that she would not have to please her... husband’s morning _needs_ (she had heard about those too). Alas another frightening possibility was starting to take the other’s place. While the aforementioned prospect was horrifying, the surfacing one was not likeable either.

Fearful thoughts of being left forgotten, naked and alone in this chamber, had eaten holes into her skull – as if worms to an overripe fruit – and wormed their way inside her brain. The idea made her heart thunder against her constricting ribcage. Without conscious effort wide green eyes jumped around the room in a desperate attempt to find something that would ease her (though if she were coherent – she would be aware that it was unlikely that she’d find such a thing).

There was little that could successfully distract her. From her position she couldn’t see the massive bedchamber well (and the bed’s canopy was not to blame, for the transparent black curtains were tied to the obsidian bedposts), it wasn’t a room with open planning. The strange curving of the ceiling and walls formed a plentitude of alcoves and niches, which allowed shadows to play in them – she found the fact to be discomforting (it was beyond her understanding how anyone could feel safe in a place like this). However that was not the only odd thing about the chamber – while marvelously decorated – it was also painfully void. Only decorative details could be found; the space ruled by pale blue marble and its deceitful look of ice coupled with shades of black onyx. The domineering dark elements made her think that the room looked like an ornate tomb – and the thought in turn gave way to a shudder.

No personal touch could be found, making Sigyn idly wonder whether it was truly the private room of her h-... of him. She was under the impression that the King’s abode would be full of trinkets and objects, each capable of telling a story most intriguing. But there was nothing of such to be found. If the bedroom was his, then she didn’t understand why it was so bare – furnished like a room in expectancy of a guest but not of a long lived owner. Perhaps, she mused, it hadn’t been so and the items were all removed right before her arrival. Who knew what kind of valuable or maybe even powerful, or worse – dangerous objects – could have rested here. If so – then it was no surprise that they had been relocated, after all such things were worth guarding. Though most of the moving had truly been for naught, since she doubted that she would have even dared to touch a thing (in fear that it could incur the Ice Jotunn’s wrath or somehow cause harm to her being) – however there was no way that he knew that or believed it to be true.  

Due to the lack of items capable of holding her gaze for more than a few seconds her eyes had scourged the vicinity in desperate circles. Soon though she realized that, if anything, this tactic only served to heighten her anxiety. Her line of sight returned to the gargantuan bed and there she noticed something she had missed before. On one of the giant (and they were truly that) pillows rested a note. Despite the stark contrast of the colors – the pale parchment against the black pillowcase – she had failed to catch sight of it (but because of her state of mind – it was really not surprising that it had slipped past her undetected).

The Lady could not decide whether to feel relieved at her new finding. Well, at least she already knew how to proceed – this was a familiar routine for her. She stared at the letter for a few short moments – unsure whether she wished the note to unravel its meaning or whether she wanted it to fade into nothingness. However curiosity quickly grew to be too overwhelming to continue resisting.

Taking the piece of parchment into her hands she read its contents. It began in the same fashion as the Ice World’s King’s last letter, with the words – “ _Dear Sigyn_ ”. After that went the most elaborate and eloquent apology she had ever seen written or heard spoken. He had gone to apologize for his absence and explained the reason behind it. He profusely expressed his regret at being unable to be with her because of the tender situation the Realm of Frost was in and how that very situation required his immediate attention. He had also written that he was aware what a grave and unforgivable thing his lack of presence at her side was, lamenting that the important matters he had to attend to could not have been postponed.

She did not know if she should believe the apology to be sincere (she was well aware that for a wife to doubt her husband’s word was beyond forgiveness, though not missing or caring for his presence was a crime far worse). The Lord of these iced-over lands was cryptic enough when he spoke, but guessing what was genuine and what was not from his written word alone – was light-years’ away in difficulty.

Furthermore, he mentioned that he would be joining her for dinner (a meeting she wasn’t looking forward to), in a subtle way saying that it was the best he could do under the circumstances. The note did not end with that however. There were also assurances that she would find every necessity in these chambers (which she guessed would be: a bathing place with all its vital things of need – to clothing and all other instruments to make her presentable, and helpers – must not forget those).

What she was to spend her time on was also taken to thought. He wrote that he had transported the books she had kept in her bedroom of old. Giving her the option of reading the books in this chamber or going to scout for new ones in the library (the path to which she would be aided in finding). The same choice was also given for where she would choose to eat her meals – they would arrive depending on where she’d decide to spend her day.

After well wishes that her day be interesting and good, the note ended with only one word penned down – “ _Loki_ ”.

* * *

 

It had taken some time until the new Queen of Jotunheim had gathered enough courage to leave the bed (though when she did she had not abandoned the silken sheet, using it as a mock-gown). She had first ventured into the bathing chambers, which were not difficult to find. There were only two sets of doors in the room (though she did not doubt the possibility of secret passageways lying in the shadowed parts of the room), through ones she had entered the bedchamber last night – so that had only left the smaller door on the east end of the sleeping quarters.

True to the Ruler’s words – there she had found every necessity. It had not been surprising when the black mock-halos had come to her aid. Though this time they had waited for her permission to help her bathe. She had allowed it, however it was not a decision she’d made with an easy heart.

Clad in a warm robe the woman had returned to the bedroom in search for clothing. It had not been prepared for her and the fact had brought on a brief panic attack. The bout of fright had abated when she had spotted, truly seen (for it was hard to miss) a large wardrobe. When she’d opened it, it was the same as opening one of the trick-boxes of before. It was not as much a wardrobe as a whole separate chamber. Not overly large – but definitely more than the dimensions of the piece of furniture indicated (it was no doubt a thing crafted with a heavy aid of magic).

She hadn’t stepped into it in fear that the closet’s doors would shut and she’d be lost in a realm of furs, lace, silk, satin and tulle... Instead the female had chosen her apparel for the day from what she could reach without entering that world of magic’s tricks. Undergarments and footwear had been a quick pick, but that had not been the case with the gown. Many of them were much like the ones she’d had to wear for her shared dinners with the Jotunn Leader – appallingly revealing too much of her flesh and too gaudy with the amount of precious materials used in the making. After long minutes of search, when she had been nearing a tearful breakdown, she had finally found something that she could bear wearing. It was a long dress of a deep blue color, with sleeves and no plunging neckline. The girl wasn’t too knowledgeable with fabrics, so she had only guessed that the body of the dress was made from velvet – on top of it rested openwork lace of a lighter shade of blue. The fact that the sleeves were only of lace did not unsettle her. At first glance it seemed to be a perfect and a proper thing to wear. However (as per norm) that was only a deceitful illusion – the back of it was only covered with lace. Regardless, it was much better than what she had worn before and it was also the best that she had been able to find.

The dark tendrils, the conjurations, had returned again that morning. They had not been met with any opposition as the Vanir Lady had resigned herself to their tender torture. The smoky tentacles had helped her dress and had taken care of her hair, face-paint and nail-paint. For most of the time of their toil she had been lost in a thoughtless daze, only two things had managed to restart her thinking process.

The first had been a thing she’d noticed, when her pale hair had been taken care of. It was curled and unbound, and _not_ raised into a chignon – not even partially up-done. It would not have been something jarring if not for the remembered fact – she was _married_ now. But she had allowed the realization to pass somewhere far away. Perhaps the Cold World simply did not share the tradition with Asgard, perhaps married Jotunn women could still wear their hair down...

The second thing to bring her back from the dreamlike reverie had not been so easy to overcome, as with it – it had brought a sense of dread and cold. Something she shouldn’t have forgotten yet had – but when the silver circlet had been placed upon her head – she remembered what had truly happened yesterday. The day prior she had been crowned _Queen_.

When the ordeal of ‘pampering’ was over, Sigyn could not bear remaining in the room. She had not stayed to eat breakfast there and left with haste for the librarium instead. She could have chosen to read the books the Ice Giant had brought from the purple-violet chamber, but she hadn’t for they taunted her. She had begun reading those tomes while she had still been _free_ – and touching them again would only fill her with grief.

There was no search involved in getting to the library of the Winter Palace. The path leading to it had been lit in that selective way – which made the finding only a deal of walking. The librarium was hers alone for the day and she had soon fallen under the spell of the written word. There she spent the whole morning and afternoon – reading and studying. Breakfast and lunch had arrived in their mysterious ways, alerting her of their presence with only their delicious aromas. Reading had uplifted her spirits so much that both of the meals she had eaten fully. As she had not eaten well for days – it was an improvement.


	24. The price of power

**Chapter twenty-four**

**_The price of power_ **

 

 

Sigyn sat embraced by a seemingly indestructible sphere of bliss, cast by her reading. However the unconsciously created surrounding bubble was susceptible to bursting and it was pierced by the sound of opening doors. She did not need to expand her field of awareness to know who it was. The aura of the creature went on to overpower and encompass the expanse of the vast librarium, its smothering presence nearly enough to overshadow the lingering ambience of knowledge. The torrential energy of the Jotunn was even more overwhelming than usual, carrying phantoms of incomprehensible power as well as pure arrogance and the air that commanded utter attention.

She did not turn to greet the man with her eyes, instead she remained hunched over the book that laid splayed before her on the table, although the words were beyond her grasp now. Despite the fact that the girl had expected him, she was still forced into flinching when the King placed his hands on her shoulders. And the lace sleeves offered no protection from his cold skin.

It was preposterous to believe that a Master Sorcerer such as he would not know that she’d been aware of his presence long before he had touched her, yet he still uttered the words that appeared utterly unnecessary.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

The response received was non-vocal, just a miniature nod – noticeable only to creatures with great perception (whether that of the instinctual kind or the factual one based on the five sense). But she did not doubt that he had registered her affirmation of having heard him.

However realization was quick to come and she was brought to awareness that he’d said the seemingly trite phrase not without conscious intent. The Ruler purposely ignored her reaction, creating a scene that belied reality. The words were meant as an escape, he allowed them both to not acknowledge her fault. This world was his playground, everything bowed to his whim – all, even she, was his game. He was the Game-Master – he decided what was to be acknowledged, even if the _reality_ created was but deceit.  

He leaned over her, not relinquishing his light yet solid hold on her shoulders. The Leader of the Frost Giants did not need to do so to make her cower, his presence alone – with its overbearing and stifling power – was more than enough to do so. His red eyes were swift in inspecting the text she had been poring over so earnestly. He did not move away as he spoke, his gaze finding her flighty orbs.

“Ah, a healing text on common illnesses – a good choice – as it may be useful.”

It took the young woman a few seconds to absorb his words and by the time the curt process of her thinking finished – the Prince had stepped away. She turned around quickly in her chair, forgetting everything but her intense wish of finding the meaning behind his words.

“Truly?” she asked him whilst holding his sanguine gaze squarely. The inquiry breathing word was full of hope and maybe even excitement; the ember of hope was begging for a brighter flame and fought hard against the possibility of being doused by what had to be the truth.

“Why of course. That is, if you wish it. I see nothing wrong with the continuation of your work as a healer – if only you desire that” thus was his answer, which gave away not even a whisper of conflicted emotions or cruel deception. He’d said it as though it was obvious, however without any annoyance over her being unaware of that.

“But... but would that n-not be un-unqueenly?” her question came in splinters for a myriad of reasons, some new – some old. The former was hope, tender and young – so fragile and easily crushable. It was barely there and though it was definitely there – the logical reality that she foresaw was close to disintegrating that miniscule flame. As for the old causes, there were a great many of them: his words, always hanging in balance of truth and deceit – forever a trick, like a test that he was forcing her to take (and she was never able to tell just what outcome failing or passing would have); the waving, yet ever-present, fear – because believing or denying him was never an uncomplicated thing to do.

The girl-woman simply had to ask that, what he said alone was not necessarily something to be taken literally. Perhaps the Cold World’s Monarch only meant what had been left unmentioned in the contract. Therefore while it was not against the _rules_ of their union – it was not to say that he would _allow_ her the privilege.

“No; how could that be unfitting of a queen – I fail to understand that. It is for a queen to decide what she will or will not do – only that could create that rift between queenly and unqueenly behavior.”

“But surely--” she countered but was stopped midsentence, her mind’s distraction was to blame. The blue-skinned male had unceremoniously sat onto the edge of the table and casually crossed his arms over-chest, all the while keeping eye contact with the female.  He wore a benevolent and attentive expression on his face, with a subtle smirk playing on his lips. It stunned her momentarily, whenever he did something like this it left her flabbergasted. It was an action that opposed his seemingly stoic character and position; it was – ironically – an unkingly thing to do.

“What you were about to say is correct, however” King Loki said as he crossed his legs “if you were to take every queen, every female ruler that there has ever been, from all the realms, and what they did as they ruled, before and after – the amplitude that would be formed would negate any possibility of something being unqueenly. The same is with male rulers as well. Of course different worlds, different lands – they may have some kind of traditional views of how a certain monarch should act. However time and circumstance do their work, bringing change and forging views anew. What had once been normal can be forgotten and change into something abnormal and alien.”

The Lady ( _Queen_ ) only nodded absentmindedly, astounded by what the Ice Giant had said. He quite often philosophized with such... was it wisdom (?), making it sound as though it was the most obvious and understandable thing – but it wasn’t that to her.

When he resumed speaking, barely taking pause, he had the entirety of her attention.

“And in truth, a healer Queen could only be a symbol of compassion and benevolence. And that, my dear, would not be ill to one’s reputation” a peculiar smile followed the words (and it was only peculiar because she couldn’t decipher the meaning or emotional core of it).

He looked away, a tiny moment passed in silence. And when he spoke again it was in objection to what he had said formerly. That in turn brought only confusion to the young Vanir. What had managed to pour oil into the small flame that was her hope – was now turning into icy water.

“Not that benevolence in a ruler is always for the best” having said that he got off the table and went to the nearest bookshelf, one of the many giants of its kin.

The quiet held on for a minute as Sigyn watched. Shock clasped her firmly, until the need to know what the Frost Jotunn meant replaced it. He showed no hint of planning to resume his line of thought – the mostly one-sided conversation, apparently already forgotten. He softly poked the spines of the shelved books, as though searching for one or counting them.

“B-but why?”

His swift response revealed the fact that he had neither gotten lost in thought and forgotten their discussion nor had he ended it.

“Such rulership can cause conflict, either from an internal source or from an external one. There can be various scenarios for both. To give some examples, in case of the aforementioned – great freedom, especially suddenly given and to people who are not used to it, in that ruler’s dominion will bring even larger demand of it and consequentially with the monarch’s inability to cater to the ever-growing public demand – can swiftly end in revolution. As for war from the outside, well the reasoning behind it can be divided into two contrasting views. It can be viewed as weakness, consequentially leading to the assumption that a benevolent mentality is not capable to deal with war. Especially if the opposing nation is that of warrior-people, who believe benignity to be shameful. Therefore they feel that creatures of such a mindset have to be destroyed or enslaved, since war-driven masses think them to be unworthy of freedom. The other point of view is that such ruling is strength. Unified lands living in harmony – is seen to be an ever-growing threat, and every ruler seeks to destroy possible threats. Therefore that unity must be shattered – thus is believed by the (often self-proclaimed) enemy. And it has to be done before the peaceful lands create internal chaos in the opposing kingdom. The latter was the case of Vanaheim. Though I am certain that that is not what you had been taught about the Aesir-Vanir wars. I however would know better – seeing how Jotunheim had played a part in that grand war.”

The Jotunn noticed the way the girl’s eyebrows shot up and then furrowed in confusion. He smiled in a way that seemed bitter and spoke once more.

“Fret not, I shall satisfy your curiosity, but let me get back to the beginning” he took an inaudible deep breath before continuing “The relationship between Asgard and Vanaheim had always been strained; although often said to be sister-realms – they were always the polar opposites of one another. Conflicts between them had been occurring long before the Aesir-Vanir wars, but they had escalated during the Allfather’s rule. The current Aesir King had seen what a threat Vanaheim was growing to be and had decided to pluck it from root. I cannot say whether he had come to that decision long before the Great War began or not – but that is not really relevant.”

As the Prince told the story his gaze was cast-off, somewhere else than the direction of his tale’s listener, whilst his fingers idly stroked the binders of ancient tomes.

“His first tactic was to get Vanaheim to align with Realm Eternal, that the people of their sister-realm would become a vassal of the Golden World. And perhaps that was truly his initial intention because the _God of Wisdom_ ” the female could have sworn he had sneered the last words in contempt “had used such approach before. Alfheim had agreed to become Asgard’s... _lapdog_ ” what he said betrayed a momentary slip of composure, when he could no longer put his thoughts into educated words. However the mask of an indifferent storyteller returned immediately. “The Dwarfs of Svartalfheim outright refused it, but being the excellent merchants that they are – they had managed to bargain a whole different deal. After all, while the lands of Svartalfheim are rich, the fine Dvergar craftsmen – even more valuable; it was a good enough alternative to annihilating something so useful” but what he did not mention were the politics lead by Realm Eternal against the Jotnar and every other race that it considered to be monsters. No, the Golden World had never even attempted negotiating with the _monster_ - _kind_.

“But the Vanir – a people of a whole different mindset – were uncaring for trading and unwilling to dance according to Asgard’s tune. Still a last attempt was made; though what Odin’s true motive behind it was – is not something I can tell you. The peace-offer Allfather had made should not have been agreed to, but as it was, your grandfather, King Njord – while most interested in preserving the Vanir ideals – was not willing to risk the full wrath and _might_ of Asgard. And so an exchange was to be made, something incredibly valuable to both worlds, something living – that keeping it alive would ensure the continuity of truce. The Kings were supposed to exchange their wisemen, an individual that offered the most valuable of council to them. The idea was quite good and it might have succeeded in stopping the tide of war from cresting and crashing down – if not for the fact that one of the sides had deceived the other.”

He spared a glance her way and saw her listening raptly. Her whole visage made him smirk internally in satisfaction, he loved being the center of her attention.

“The Vanir sent the highest councilmember of their order, King Njord’s personal advisor and mentor, the greatest wiseman of Vanaheim – Kvasir. However the card Odin played, well... even though he was not the God of Wisdom then, I cannot believe that he did not know what his actions would lead to, that he had not foreseen something so obvious” he shook his head “That is simply impossible – therefore the Allfather knew exactly what he was doing.”

Wide eyed and stuttering – that was the woman’s countenance as the words left her mouth; too quickly for her to even realize what she was saying. Hard-wired teaching-turned-habit – was apparently too deep to overcome.

“B-but th-that is a-against--”

“The Allfather’s doctrine” the Jotunn Ruler finished firmly, making the girl cringe. “You must remember – it was a long time ago.”

His next words were accompanied by a cynical smile, present in his tone as well. However the expression was not aimed at her, but turned somewhere beyond her simple existence, fathoming things in a grander scheme.

“It is easy to have a peaceful doctrine when you have conquered nearly the entirety of the conquerable world, when your opponents are near dead.”

Tense silence reigned for a few minutes, during which the King had not turned to regard his new ‘possession’ (or so the female considered herself). After that heavy moment he sighed loud enough for her to hear, then he spoke once more.

“Shall I continue?” he inquired.

A guilty and meek affirmation followed. The story resumed.

“Back then the worlds of the Ash Tree were far more connected. Paths lied between the realms,--” and like that a fat puzzle piece fell into Sigyn’s lap, but unfortunately she did not notice the significance of his words “--there was no need for the Bifrost – and whether Odin used it or not is of no importance. The then young Aesir Ruler would often march into Jotunn lands unchartered. That had been before the time of the Great Jotunn Empire, before my predecessors’ rule – and before then no ruler had concerned themselves with taking any measures against unwanted otherworldly trespassers. Mayhap they did not even know about the kingling’s little expeditions into Jotunheimr territory.”

The mocking in the last sentence was blatant, so much so that it made her shiver inwardly – how large a treason her current predicament was.

“And in these lands Odin had found something sacred – only later did he understand what that was” _and foolishly used it_ – he thought bitterly, but he would get to that part of history later, though the full truth would remain hidden – telling it would serve no purpose. “That place was guarded by a Jotunn, a creature whose wisdom had no rival – nor will it ever have... The Great Wiseman’s name was Mimir... And well, I guess it is pretty obvious what happened afterwards” he shot her another one of those peculiar sad-like smiles, leaving her stunned and unable to choose whether his words were the truth or just hideous, vilifying lies. Oh but it was the truth – and that was often hard to accept, especially for someone who had been taught that the Golden World’s actions were eternally righteous and never questionable.

“Odin took Mimir captive and passed him off as a great wiseman of Asgard. And then the Vanir should have suspected foul play – when instead of an Aesir they saw a Frost Jotunn at their threshold – alas, thus was not the case. Perhaps it was because of the free-mindedness of your people, my dear, that they accepted a being of another race as a possible councilman of Realm Eternal. Or perhaps they simply feared that raising any doubts concerning the exchange would incur the wrath of Asgard. And it’s most probable that we shan’t ever know the reason why.”

Having said that the Ice Giant finally turned to look at her and leaned into the monstrous bookcase behind him. And he resumed telling her of things long past without wasting a moment more.

“The Vanir exchange – Kvasir, he did not betray his people and advised the Asgardian King as he had been sent to do. The unwilling Aesir exchange – Mimir, however – did not. A prideful Jotunn, even more so one that was uninterested in taking part in any kind of communal life of the Jotnar, was not about to play the part he was pushed into. He refused to give any council to the Vanir and Vanaheim was quick to express its anger to Asgard – though the Aesir remained unhearing. Somewhere around that time, when the discontent was escalating rapidly and war was beginning to loom on the horizon – Kvasir passed away. Was it just a coincidence...? After all, the Wiseman of Vanaheim was indeed very old, had his age simply consumed his existence? Or was it something entirely different? After all, it is unbelievable that a Vanir would aid the enemy in a war against his own kinsmen. Without a doubt he would have become a liability and if he had learned something of Realm Eternal that could bring it to ruin... Well, that death would have become a necessity then.”

The fraction of a second lasting look that the young man threw her way was downright disturbing. It was as if he dared her to accept the severe implications of his words. Even if they weren’t truthful ( _Even if? Of course they were not... right?... Were they?_ – thinking about that any longer would bring her frustration to tears) it was worse that he was the one saying them – for he was the most enigmatic creature in the Nine. It was impossible to tell if he carried a dragging shawl of deceit with him or one of acidic honesty, if that is – he only ever carried one and never shifted from one to another. He was so convincing, the Lady fully believed that he could downright convince someone to sell their soul to him.

“I do not know whether Kvasir died before or after the Vanir took action because of the... unsuccessful exchange. If it were before – then it could have served as a catalyst, a provocation. But, then again, it was hardly necessary – the flame of Vanaheim is a fiery and feisty thing, a force to be reckoned with. Whichever way it was – does not matter, fact remains that Mimir stayed obstinate and for that he was beheaded.”

The revelation tore out a shocked gasp from the listener, whose eyes were frightened. However the fear was not born from the morbid story that he was telling, it stemmed from what she assumed him to be feeling concerning it. After all, she was a Vanir – and not just any Vanir, but the granddaughter of the man who was directly involved in the Giant’s killing. She was clearly thinking it possible for him to have some emotional attachment to the deceased that he was telling her of, or more likely to be feeling something at the loss of a possible asset. Her misplaced fright and thoughts nearly brought a smile to his lips, the expression was reined in – for she would have surely misinterpreted it also, it would have only fed her fear. But it was simply amusing seeing her mind’s work so vividly reflected on her face. It would have been alarming if her background would not be integral in this – Asgardians often did feel strongly about things that truly held no ground over them. However Loki was not so... petty.

“Oh but, my dear, they only acted accordingly. To them Mimir was a wiseman of Asgard and he failed in his task. If they would have ignored it or if their response would have been weaker it would have been interpreted as fear or lenience towards the Golden World. Regardless of what they could have done, I think, that at that point their fate had already been sealed... However it did not end there.”

The gaze of the Monarch was chilling, raising her fright exquisitely. She understood that it was not the tale of bloodshed that she was going to hear. Not knowing what more could there be, kept her on sharp pins of anticipation, which were drenched in her dread. She had a feeling there was something even worse to be heard. And she was not mistaken.

“The Vanir sent the disembodied head back to Asgard and that was their undoing. But in a way, that is much more frightening than the obvious. It is so often forgot that it forces the truth into myth. Realm Eternal where magic is frowned upon and despised so much – had forced so many to ignore the fact that the God sitting on the Golden Throne is a sorcerer. And so the Jotunn’s head was neither cast away nor buried.”

It would have been comical how shocked the little Goddess’s expression became by each sentence that he spoke – if not for the heaviness of the tale he was telling.

“Odin embalmed it with herbs and bound with the darkest magic both mind and soul to the head as well as his will. Keeping Mimir between life and death, with no chance at peace, leaving the creature to the curse of eternal wandering. A being trapped between existence and inexistence – that gives one knowledge impossible to attain by the living. I cannot be certain as to the true reason, however I can speculate as to why the Allfather has not used Mimir’s council more. Because if he would have – then all of Yggdrasill would have been conquered by Asgard long ago. You see, Sigyn, to defy death, to keep something which is rotting alive – that requires huge power. And any magic strong enough to achieve such is unpredictable, added with Mimir’s own strength of will – I reckon forcing him to speak is a deal requiring a lot of power and even more patience. Perhaps the binding had weakened with time, magic as dark as that is always fickle. That would make sense, since the actions taken by the Odinfather during the Aesir-Vanir war were simply perfect – so much so that it is as if he had known what would happen before it did. But at the heat of war with Jotunheim – they were not even half that calculated. Still, knowing how much time it took the Allfather to force Mimir to uncover his secret – his will must have played a role all the same.”

He halted his story to inquire.

“Do you remember when I said that Mimir guarded a sacred place?”

A nod from a rapt listener and he continued.

“Do you know of the three mystical wells of Yggdrasill?”

“T-three?” she stuttered, confusion lacing her shaky question.

“Yes, three. Hvergelmir – the core of the Mother River, Urdarbrunnr – Urd’s Well, and the third – Mimisbrunnr – _Mimir’s Well_. The waters of which have the most powerful properties of them all. It is the Well of All-knowledge, the Well of Wisdom...” he paused and if the story would not have been so close to heart – it could have been misinterpreted as a pause for dramatic effect “Odin managed to force Mimir to tell him of the well and its location. I think it is pretty clear what the Asgardian Ruler did with that information” he shot her a look before he resumed speaking “And on the very eve of the final battle of the Jotunn-Aesir war – he set out to find it. But as it is with every great power in this Universe – it all comes with a price. Only a sip did Odin take, for anything more would have cost him more than he could pay. In exchange for that little sip the Aesir King tore out his own eye. Fitting really, to gain a wiser worldview – the sacrifice was literally part of that which one used to see the world” the Jotunn Prince huffed a muffled half-laugh at that. “After that Odin proclaimed himself the God of Wisdom, the Allfather” he concluded his story. But that was not all, there was more to that tale of old. Things he left unsaid, though what remained untold was not for the reason of deceit.

Loki knew his lands well, he knew Jotunheim’s secrets. The knowledge that he held so tightly in his grasp was not just the quintessence of his curiosity. His mother had left a treasury of secrets. Not all of it had been documented by her, amongst her journals he had found several writings of someone else. He did not know who had put the last few nails in her research, wrote about the fall of the empire – when at that point it would have hardly mattered. Well, truly, who did it was irrelevant, what was important was that it had been done. Without that information, the Jotunn Prince would not have known how the Aesir King had become the Allfather. Without that he would not have realized what a threat the Monarch of the Golden World truly posed.

The Ruler of the Ice Realm not only knew the exact location of Mimisbrunnr – he had _seen_ it. He had this unimaginable ace in the palm of his hand and yet he had not taken a drop of its waters. Even Mimir had not tasted those waters, his wisdom stemming from the symbiosis he had formed with the well he protected. It was not caused by direct ingestion of the water, but by some other, unfathomable way. That was integral in the protection of the waters, however all that wisdom had not been enough...

All power came with a price, the greater the power – the greater the cost. The other two of the mystical wells had been entirely natural occurrences. Mimisbrunnr however was an abnormality – and that explained its incomprehensible power. Unlimited knowledge, unlimited power – there was nothing any being could sacrifice that would be a sufficient price, and the young Jotunn King knew that. That power was never meant for anyone to possess. Should it ever happen to be obtained by someone, then it would take its payment – it would slowly work its way like the double-edged blade that it is. Like knowing ones fate and doing everything and anything to stop it – one would only make the thing he so sought to prevent come to pass – the waters of Mimisbrunnr worked on the same principle. The knowledge would grow whilst successfully devouring everything else within the drinker’s mind. It was a wonder how the Odinfather had managed to remain relatively sane for so long. The Aesir were creatures that had impressive willpower, however that would not keep the deterioration, the insanity away forever.

He could almost admire the King of the Asgardians, _almost_. The way he had manipulated the Vanir to dig their own graves, giving himself a viable reason to annihilate them...And so many other examples... The cunning Odin possessed... But the young Ruler could not admire him. Not because Odin was his adversary, not because he was biased. He could not admire the God’s mind and how he used it – for there were so many more stories that revolted him. That, that... that something that the Aesir race possessed. It could be found in individuals but not in a race as a whole, except for the children of Asgard – in every one of them it could be found. This, this, denial, self-deceit, self-righteousness, this complete disability to acknowledge actions as they are, be they wrong or right. They broke boundaries that were unjustifiable and yet the _divine_ race not only justified that but they even glorified it. That was utterly nauseating.

And he, he was supposed to use Aesir methods himself. If he would not that would only make matters worse with Sigyn. If the circumstances would have been different he would not need to resort to this. Alas, time was running out and there were his own whims as well. So he used those whims and concentrated into that, ignoring doubts and mental dissatisfaction. He pushed away the thought of hope too, the hope that the Vanir and Dvergar in her would be as dominated by Realm Eternal’s _nurture_ as they seemed – lest him following the Asgardian traditions break her. He had no need of hope, he required certainty, even if it was illusionary.

The Frost Giant Ruler stopped himself and smiled deceptively in spite of the momentary turmoil that had overtaken him. 

The Vanir Lady could not wrap her head around what she had just heard. Could it be true? That was unlikely... was it not? But what was the point of him telling this deceitful story? What could that achieve? But that was obvious, she chided herself. He sought to plant a seed of doubt, to blacken Asgard in her mind. Though what good could it do him – she did not know. The thought that she could not see the whole picture frustrated her immensely.

But what if the tale had been true? Surely that was not possible, and yet... It was not illogical that if it were the truth, it was not something that the Allfather wished all to know. After all, what kingdom would wish such dark history to loom above it? What example would that set to the people? How would such a blackened figure win the position of the All-Realm Protector, if a secret as heinous as such be revealed? Surely, every nation would seek to paint their action as righteous. And that would have happened before the Odinfather had become the Allfather. But... Damn that Jotunn and his mind tricks! She could not believe this, she refused to! And yet a part of her, a small, seemingly insignificant part of her subconscious did not have trouble accepting the Aesir King as a man who would do anything for the sake of his realm, who would believe the means to justify the end if it was to Asgard’s favor...

This was something that she needed hours if not days on end to digest, alas she was not even given a few minutes time to do so. It was simply astounding how quickly the Ice Giant could jump from thought to thought, no matter how somber the former was or how cheery the next was going to be. He was proving to have more and more sides, more and more colors as his personality’s light travelled through the prism of her mind. And to her distress, the more time she spent with him – the more contradicting he appeared to be.

“But enough about history” he said, throwing a mirthless half-smile the distraught woman’s way before continuing “I had gravely digressed from our initial subject. And--” he paused as his eyes scanned the neatly lined books.

Once he had located what he had looked for, his gaze stopped at a shelf that was even higher than a tall man like him could reach. And then he did something so unexpected that it made the girl-woman’s jaw turn slack. He placed his foot on one of the lower shelves, using it as a boost and simply plucked the desired tome out. The motion was quick and she half-wondered if she had imagined that. It was just so... utterly _not_ him. He was a King and he had acted so _juvenile-like_. It was simply incomprehensible. And he was a sorcerer no less! She thought that, well, if a person had such power then surely magic would become a second limb to them. It was strange that a magician would even bother with a physical task if it could be performed via magic.

He shot her a purely boyish, self-amused grin, which made her ask herself whether she wasn’t dreaming. But he ignored her gawking and finished his thought.

“--It would be unforgivable to not return to it” he tore his red orbs from her and turned them to the book he had in his hands, it only lasted a moment and then his gaze returned to her. However his hands did not cease stroking the tome in a loving manner “If you wish to heal, then I am not just grudgingly allowing you that, I am encouraging you to do it” as he said that he smiled genuinely at her (or perhaps it was simply a perfectly worn lie of a façade).

She was too shell-shocked to respond in any way, but he did not have trouble leading the conversation all on his own, which to be fair – he never did. If a conversation turned out to be more of a monologue than a dialogue – he never seemed to notice.

“I have told you before, Jotunheim has no infrastructure – which means there are no places of healing either. And if you want to build one, by all means, I would only be glad for it. There is so much to be discussed, so much to be done – if you are willing to do this; but we need the first little block to this building” he said and placed the book on the table, so that she could see it “The most basic text of healing, however written with Jotnar in mind” amused, he added “After all, they will be your patients.”

The girl felt too dumbstruck to be able to say something. It simply sounded too good to be true. All she could do was watch him with dazed eyes, though he did not seem to mind the stupid and mindless look that she wore.

“Now then, my dear, I suggest we take that book and this conversation to the dining room, because I am famished” he suggested whilst smirking in his self-satisfied way.

The Jotunn King offered a hand and his Queen took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great part of this chapter dealt with genuine details of the Norse mythology, however those tidbits were wrapped in fiction of my own making.
> 
> Mimir (the rememberer or the wise one) – is a Jotunn (or not, depends on the version) that was the guardian of the well of wisdom (Mimisbrunnr), to drink from which and gain ultimate knowledge Odin sacrificed an eye. It is also true that the Jotunn was involved in the Aesir-Vanir wars, being the Aesir exchange for the Vanir wiseman Kvasir – and the rest is written in the chapter (he didn't give council, was beheaded, Odin kept the head and embalmed it so Mimir would give him council and etc).
> 
> Urdarbrunnr (Urd's well), Mimisbrunnr (Mimir's well) and Hvergelmir (bubbling/boiling spring) – are the three mystical wells (water-bodies) that exist in Yggdrasill. All are located at the roots of the World Tree, however because I use a different version of the Norse cosmology – both Jotunheim and Niflheim are not located beside Hel.


	25. Whimsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! The warnings written in the very first chapter apply to this chapter!  
> In case you have forgotten them, be sure to reread them. If you need to know the exact warnings that apply to this chapter, they are specified in the bottom author’s notes. They are not written here because they, of course, are spoiler-material. However if you are sensitive to any of the material that you have already been warned about, read the bottom author’s notes to know exactly what you are about to read and decide whether you are willing to read it.

**Chapter twenty-five**

**_Whimsy_ **

 

 

Chatter, debate, inquiries and answers barely withheld through mouthfuls of food (not always successfully) and ( _almost_ )-laughter – it had been a long time since Sigyn had last had that (so long ago that she didn’t even remember). And certainly not since she had stepped foot into Jotunheim. She felt ( _almost_ ) happy. The hours past had long since bled together and she could not even hope to untangle them (she didn’t even want to try). But oh, the hour count was simply irrelevant, when they were so interesting, exciting, thrilling even.

And there was still so much left to discuss! No matter how long she had conversed with him – the topic was simply too inexhaustible to be exhausted. They had talked about the intricacies of healing Frost Jotunns and she was glad to find that her healing magic would need no altering to do its purpose. There were of course differences in the anatomies of Ice Giants and her former patients, however those weren’t grand enough to make her knowledge inapplicable or useless.

The book that they had brought to dinner had also been part of the conversation. Sometimes used for cross-referencing when the Jotunn Prince’s knowledge on a certain subject was insufficient or when he wasn’t certain of his words on something. They had managed to pore over a good chunk of the heavy tome, with the King asking her opinion on the healing techniques offered for a certain ailment or injury and she – frequently suggesting improvements, which were seldom rebuffed for not being suitable. They had even played a game – where he would describe to her an illness and she would tell how she’d go about healing it; it was gladdening to know that she was often correct, despite the subject matter being the healing of Jotunns.

It was also important to establish a place of healing. However that topic had been approached lightly and abstractly, they hadn’t delved into it deeply. There were, after all, much to be decided, learnt and done before building something like that could commence. However building something was relatively quick work and utterly pointless if that would be the first stepping stone. A place of healing would not serve its purpose if she would be the only healer there. In case an influx of patients would occur – it would only serve as a stockroom for corpses and the part of her mind that was nothing but healer did not shy away from that possibility.

Though his words on the matter – few, swift and seemingly offhanded – had described the issue quite differently. He’d said that a queen could not be on eternal on-call duty (no matter how noble), for she would have other responsibilities and duties to occupy her valuable time. The Vanir female had allowed those words to pass through her mind _detected_ but purposefully left ignored (even if for tonight exclusively).

It was not something up for debate, no argument could be made – when both understood that there was no alternative (and neither found that unacceptable). Therefore to further the idea towards reality – healers were necessary. Alas, the ravaged lands had none. The Ruler had suggested that she could teach and train her future healing personnel. She found such a prospect, while daunting, to be immensely invigorating.

Finding staff for, so to speak, the ‘manual labor of healing’ – would be easy, but they needed proper healers – those who could quickly pick up on the healing arts. She had found out that practically the entirety of the Jotunn race were magic-users, alas one magic was not the same as another. The type of magic that was natural to the Giants of this world, one that they could master quickly – was the manipulation of ice and frost. However, if a certain Jotunn was phenomenal with said magic – that did not necessarily mean that they could perform even the simplest of healing spells. It had been a relief to find that the majority of the population had the capacity for wielding magic on the same principle that Aesir and Vanir did (of course she was thinking in the area of healing! She did not allow her mind to wander off with this information into the dark crevices of her imagination).

The Lady (truly, no longer just that) had also garnered knowledge unasked for. She had learned that there were also Frost Giants that were born with magic, who were natural sorcerers and their power was vastly greater than of those who had been trained into the world of magics. However these magicians were especially rare, singularities in their own right. And even if they would wish to find such for their purpose, he’d expressed doubt on whether that would even be possible. The Monarch of the Cold World believed such occurrence to be hereditary, however the gene had to be exceedingly recessive if the impressively rare manifestation was anything to go by. Apparently any sort of records in Jotunheim were more than scarce (which was kind of apparent to her now), therefore it was not possible to tell even the approximate origin of the magic-adept genes. He’d said that as much as he had found about these phenomenal occurrences of sorcerers, there had been nearly no reoccurrences in any family trees. However, he’d also mentioned, that that was not evidence enough to claim that there hadn’t once been a singular primeval source.

Perhaps it had been because she’d had too much wine (and that wasn’t true) or perhaps the ambience of the evening was at fault (that wasn’t it either, for it was definitely a thing chosen, even if from a directive the origin of which was the subconscious), but she had dared to ask. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have inquired something that could be less than an innocent inquiry and especially not if one was to be quite so personal. The lines had blurred though and she could not have helped that – it was healing for Norns’ sake, it was _healing_! The topic always forced her thoughts to flow more freely (even if not by much) and be less restricted by her ever-thinking and double-thinking mind. The question had been simple, easy to misinterpret as a natural continuation of the subject at hand and child of benevolent curiosity – not that it was truly devious (she was not really capable of that). And if he had suspected something scheming underneath it (though there was hardly anything there of the sort) – he hadn’t given any indication.

She had asked him whether the Jotunns with inborn magic were like him (a subtler inquiry than an outright question to get to know whether he was one – it would always be wrong to assume that how one phrased something would have no true difference). The answer itself had not been a surprise but the fact that she had gotten one – was. He had affirmed it. His magic had started manifesting from near infancy, had few limitations in what he could wield or master, and his power, compared to that of others, grew with ease.

It was a startling piece of information (which she hadn’t lingered on, at least not while she was high on the pleasant mood of ignorance that reigned this evening), something that only made him (an already very real threat) even more dangerous. Of course it had crossed her mind that he could have been lying (after all, it was not against reason for a ruler to give reason for others to fear them), but she chose to believe his words – for overestimating was better than underestimating. Either way that changed nothing because she was already aware that the King was powerful. Whether his abilities were there in his blood or trained into him – he was still a Master of Magic.

And so the evening went on in that fashion, a conscious luxury on the girl’s part. She earnestly believed in what they spoke but only for the early night, she would not believe it for the morrow. When the day would break anew – it would carry no expectations that its predecessor should have left behind. It was an indulgence on her side and very possible – on his as well, only that they differed (but perhaps not all that much – they were both play-pretending and deceiving, only that she was deceiving herself and he wasn’t). She greedily stole the scrap of positivity (and it did not matter that it was an illusion because there would be no vestiges of any kind left tomorrow), a commodity she could not afford in the dreary forecast of her life. It was a small shard of happiness (but not hope, _never_ hope) and she grasped it, even if it would make her hands bleed (they would bleed anyway).

There was no telling when and to which direction the axis that she precariously balanced on would swerve and throw her. But perhaps this was not as big an impossibility as it seemed. While everything else was shrouded by hazes that could not be pierced, it was not so illogical that he’d actually use her for this purpose. Because it would make little sense if he would ignore her true value as a healer and not abuse it for his gain. However she did not allow herself to dwell on that, it would be folly and it would be hope. She’d learnt long ago not to ( _truly_ ) hope for anything.

The fact that she was even considering healing Ice Giants (even if just for tonight) made a part of her scream in a shrill, incessant voice. But there were too many imbedded directives in her that opposed one another and their squabbling was entirely unhelpful in any decision making (given if she could ever make a choice concerning anything, which seemed unlikely). Technically healing the enemy was betraying Asgard, but technically the Jotunn Prince was her husband, and _technically_ she _did not_ _care_ at the moment. Because for the evening, _just for the evening_ , everything had ceased to exist and had been buried, forgotten. They weren’t talking as an Asgardian and a Jotunn, nor as King and Queen, and not even as husband and wife – all that was inexistent and hadn’t ever existed as far as these hours were concerned. It was just a conversation between a healer and a party interested in her healing skills, nothing more – nothing less.

Alas bliss was never meant to last and it didn’t wait for dawn to dissipate. A few words were enough to break the spell. He uttered them languidly but it seemed so quick and unexpected, as if she’d been physically struck. The illusion, built on tender faux-oblivion, shattered violently – enough so to cause the girl whiplash in the mental sense. His offhand, mundane phrase was all it took to bring her back to reality. The imaginary of healer and interested employer – was replaced by bitter truth. She returned back to the present, where he was King and she – his ( _captive)_ Queen, where the Ice Jotunn was her husband and she – his _wife_. Along with that, everything else returned – despair and fear, and everything else in-between.

It sounded like a mere suggestion but it truly wasn’t that. Jotunheim’s Ruler had noted that it was very late and that perhaps they should retire. But despite the phrasing, it was not up for debate. It was difficult to hide how distraught she was, her form was shaking slightly and the color had drained from her face. However the Vanir tried to keep her composure. The way the male had said it and the expression that he wore – was not contradicting the mood of just a few minutes ago. She did not know the motives underlying this evening (if there were any at all, it could have been just a fleeting fancy), however the fact remained that he had indulged her. It was something he did not have to do and with the evening’s end – his demeanor did not take a drastic change.

Why this had happened and whether there was a solid reason beneath – was irrelevant. Sigyn still felt thankful and thought that she should not allow her treacherous mind to work in discord with that. Their true situation was not coddled by civil circumstances, however thus did not mean that she shouldn’t answer his civility in kind.

With that in mind she answered with a nod and a shaky smile. It was a broken little thing, accompanied with barely-there shivers and tears in the corners of her eyes. If he noticed the lack of sincerity and the shakiness of her smile ( _of course he did_ ) – he didn’t mention it.

* * *

 

The trip was uneventful, accompanied only by mundane phrases and musings about the pleasant evening by the Monarch. It was merely a show of good manners, nothing truly relevant, which required only a nod here and there. It allowed her focus to scatter further, as she wasn’t required to pay any honest attention to his words.

It was difficult to hold onto the slipping remnants of pleasantness, as every step brought only dread. Though her companion seemed to pay it no mind, continuing with the charade. Not that she disliked the upheld illusion (she hadn’t the mind to have a preference), especially when any alternatives were too dark to consider.

And so they walked in what could be described as innocuous silence, which was only tense on the woman’s side. And where their arms were interlinked, was the core of the cold paralysis that was quickly spreading to numb the rest of her limb.

It did not take them long to reach their destination. Soon they were standing in front of the entrance to the bedchamber ( _their bedchamber_ ). And the image of the grand doors cast a foreboding feeling over her. He opened them without a word and led her inside.

They walked together deeper into the room, merely a half-dozen steps, before he came to halt. Only then did the Jotunn release her. As he separated their arms his hand briefly brushed hers. It was in demand, however soft, it was definitely that. It was a request of her attention (though the girl could not tell how she had deduced that), but with the disrupted interlacing of their limbs – her body seemed to have ceased to adhere to her will. It was as though the severing of a puppet’s strings – and without her strings there was little she could do. The half-blood female turned her head slightly in his direction – an effort in its own right, forcing the Frost Giant male to take a half-step in order to catch her eyes.

The moment’s duration escaped any viable means of measurement. She dared not look away and could not, that was somewhere beyond her abilities. But each time she blinked a strange lethargy would overtake her. As if keeping them closed would make him disappear, as if by doing so she would not have to look into those maliciously enigmatic red eyes. However her heart was what seemed to have vanished from existence, her heartbeat undetectable as seconds became eternities. She did not know whether it had stopped beating and she remained alive because of some inexplicable cruel folly of nature, or whether it was beating so fast that it had broken the sound barrier and that was the reason why she could no longer detect it.

He said not a word and kept on looking _into_ her, creating a pressure inside her to answer questions unasked... She barely felt the pressure, the paralytic sensation that governed over her made her feel as though she was buried under cold waves, with the surface an immeasurable distance away. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to have found it. Without breaking the eye contact, the Master Magician waved his hand in an abrupt gesture and the doors shut themselves. The sound of them closing was neither loud nor startling, as it was more of an echo to her ears.

Whilst his quest to locate whatever it was that he sought remained a mystery, she found something which she had no wish to find. Somehow then she knew, a visceral knowledge, that her life would from now on belong to his whims. The fact was not new to her mind, it had simply been something she yearned not to comprehend. The realization forced active fear and dread back to her psyche, and disrupted the passivity that had her in thrall mere seconds prior. It was not something she thought that she’d miss, alas the depth of eternity was so much better than the harsh reality of the surface.

The Jotunn King moved away from her and walked from her line of sight. Sigyn felt him loom behind her, like cold oppressing darkness. Her body was petrified and her muscles became tense, they coiled and twisted so much that she thought that they were going to shrivel. He moved her hair, exposing her back. The very tips of his fingers played on her barely clothed shoulders, seemingly covering her skin in frost, raising gooseflesh along their traced paths. She felt minuscule, a doll he could manipulate with his little finger alone. The Vanir forgot how to breathe.

Then he shifted his attention, choosing to toy with the tiny buttons of her dress, tracing the velvety things. She couldn’t tell whether it was only a whimsical game or whether he had undone any. The buttons were only on the lace overlay, not on the bodice of the gown itself – therefore their undoing could not loosen the whole garment. It took him never-ending minutes to get his fill of this pointless play and with its end he pressed a gruelingly long kiss to the juncture of her neck. It felt as though his kiss had managed to freeze the blood in her jugular vein, which then slowly infected the rest of her blood stream, causing agonizing cold to begin spreading languidly inside her.

He stood before her once more. The man moved on such silent feet that she could not even hear him. His fingers grasped her chin, to lift it so that he could meet her spring green eyes. And soon she was presented with that blood red gaze again, penetrating and unyielding. He pressed a deceitfully reverent kiss to her lips. Thankfully, it was relatively swift so her lack of response remained unnoticed.

His hand made a languid gesture and she felt the circlet disappear from her head. It was the second time the Sorcerer had removed the crown from her person, however this time a most vile association arose in her. In Asgard the husband always removed the wreath of flowers from his bride’s head on the wedding night. That symbolized an important change in a female’s life, the transition from girlhood to womanhood (though that was a more romanticized way of phrasing it, than the crude meaning it bore underneath). As she saw the silver circlet in his hands, the broken symbolism only intensified. Whether it was a mockery of tradition or not – mattered little, she was feeling ill for a different reason altogether.

The young Queen’s mind was trying to flee far, far away. Between half-formed prayers to Norns that they spare her and attempts at maintaining a placid façade, she felt her psyche’s desperate tries at distracting itself with details of no import. Like the hands of the Magician, whilst he made complex gestures of inhuman grace. And how his energy swirled about the floating headpiece, willing it to vanish from sight. Just like so, torn between ever-growing fright and a deliberately induced daze she observed as he did the same to his own crown.

That daze that fluctuated in her brain must have been potent, for she placed something that she had somehow not managed to before. The scent of his magic, which she had smelled always in his presence (whether she was consciously aware of that or not) and which was even present in the room with the green barriers (further testament that they were of his making). The herbal scent that she had noticed before was reminiscent of mint. However there was a second smell, which was probably to blame for her inability to discern the aforementioned. It was the scent of ice, no, not of fresh snow but of _ice_. Hard and unyielding – difficult to detect but so immensely powerful once it has been. Alas this revelation failed to soothe the frightened woman, it only gave reason for the cold that infested her body to strengthen.

In the span of a second she found herself in the arms of the royal Giant. The loss of gravity knocked the air out of her lungs, forcing a gasp to escape her throat. He held her as though she weighted nothing, making her feel as though she was transcendental – something unimportant to the physical world. She felt miniscule and had to bite back tears which threatened to spill just as her unwillingness to be in her skin grew a hundredfold. His slender physique and lean musculature belied the strength inherent to Jotunn blood. It was another reason she did not need – to fear her crimson-eyed husband.

He had to place his knee upon the gargantuan bed in order to lay her on the center as he did. She was lain down gingerly upon the monstrous mattress as the sheets separated themselves by his magic’s bidding. The Ruler sat himself weightlessly beside her, seemingly so ethereal that his interference did not even disturb the physical plane. His body twisted in a snake-like manner (which appeared to cause him no difficulty) with the intention of facing her. His legs laid elegantly stretched in front of him, torso warped, with his sanguine orbs seeking hers like a vulture its dying prey.

As he bent down to kiss her, his hand found her jaw and took to cradling it. Every movement that he made from the moment they’d stepped into this darkened room was intentionally slow, bordering on lethargic. It was obvious even to her brain, which was drawing out seconds into hours. And despite her mind’s dilemma, which was deliberating upon tearing itself and letting a large portion to fade away as to not be forced to live through this terror – lest it break her (though the psychological act itself would serve the very same purpose) she still noticed his delicate touch. Not that it mattered really, the theater of deceit that his whimsy played, especially when at any second the scene could change. His hand could tighten its hold at any moment, though she had the mind to consider it a fear-induced thought rather than something she knew for fact. Still, his tenderness would surely be forgotten as the night would progress.

The girl opened her mouth against the pressure of his, but whether she did it through reflex or conscious decision she could not discern. Regardless, she had to make at least the slightest of efforts, even as her hands twisted in the sheets in pure physical manifestation of hysteria. She attempted at kissing back (if it could be called that – the slight movement of her lips) as he pushed his tongue past her quivering lips. His slow pace hid well her pathetic attempts, though the effort required of her was grand – it proved insufficient against the mélange of inability and dread. The listlessly ravaging tongue was as cold as an ice cube placed in one’s mouth, taken from icy tea on a hot summer’s day. But it was not a hot summer’s day and the ice cube was rather fleshy and quite alive.

Breaking the contact he still pressed a soft kiss to her bottom lip. And in a different place, at a different time, processed by a different, not a fear-living mind – it might have been reverent.

As he pulled away she became overwhelmed with the scent of his power. It grew so threateningly strong that an irrational fear overtook her. She believed the magic capable of scattering her into pieces; beyond skin and bone, beyond tissue and cell... And the ice-cold male’s whim was enough to make her less than dust.

The hand left her jaw, it felt like it had frost-burned her skin where it touched but she did not think that a bruise had been left. Blue fingertips trailed down her neck, moving down ever-further. As they touched her dress, it rippled like water on her skin. The feeling of fabric turning into the sensation of metaphysical water as it parted around his digits and then transformed into heavy vapor. Light green eyes escaped the direct line of sight, unfocused and gazing somewhere over the far walls, physique shivering in sporadic and suppressed shivers, mind and psyche desperately needing distraction. The appendages stopped at her waist, where his hand sunk into the liquidized substance and came to rest there. His magic disintegrated her dress slowly and the languid wisps of smoke were but a reminder of what was recently solid and physical; her shoes and jewelry notwithstanding the enchantment induced law of decay. 

The young woman’s concentration pored into the smoke with its graceful and slow movement, she did not even notice when the man had come to loom over her. Her peripherals notified her of this, but they did not allow her the knowledge of whether his clothing had met the same fate as hers (and it was not something she needed to know). And the black shadow that shimmered somewhere on the edge of sight – was the black silken sheet that had come to cover him from lower-back down. The distraction of the smoky tendrils was great, if she had managed to miss his movement. She clung to it, as feeling the frosty ghosting of his fingertips on her ribcage more vividly was not a better alternative.

They were not dispersing; curious it would be if she were not as scared and plagued with subtle trembling occurring at irregular intervals. The bedchamber was dim but the shade-like silverine tendrils were easy to see. And there seemed to be a great deal more of the smoke than there should have been, it was beginning to fill the grand chamber as far as she could see. The wisps moving around in any direction they pleased, slower than possible – they refused to disperse. Along with their presence the scent of the Ice Giant’s magic lingered. The smell of mint and ice was just as strong as before, even _stronger_ than prior.

She recognized then what it was. It wasn’t strange how long it took her to do so, as it was not something she’d seen countless times. Especially since Asgard was not brimming with magicians of high skill and the very nature of the Aesir was not elemental enough to cause such. The idling smoke was magic – that was an obvious truth, however it was _not_ a conscious effort, it was _not_ consciously cast.

It was not to be compared with how strong yet inexperienced individuals (such as children) with unstable magic often had it manifest unconsciously, instinctually. This only occurred with strong magicians, masters of a certain degree. The power that they emanated was like a compliment to their moods or something else; whatever the reason – it had to be intense. The Vanir female had seen it herself a bare few times, as her own grandfather’s Lord Njord’s anger had unconsciously forced deadly storms to rage over seas and twist flora into malicious and vindictive barbed vines.

The Jotunn Prince did the very same. His immense power was now leaking vast amounts of excess magic, enough so to be witnessed with bare eyes. Though whatever caused these wispy mists to actually manifest and refuse to disperse – she was not aware. All that she knew was that these tendrils of smoke were wreaking havoc in seemingly benevolent ways without the explicit bidding of their Frost Giant conjurer.

As his hands continued tracing her skin, she realized in horror that she was fully naked. Remembering her situation, she understood that she could not close her eyes and will herself to escape this. Sigyn met his eyes – they were calm and a slight smirk played on his lips. She kept his gaze, though she desperately wished not to, but she was not to displease him – and it was the most effort she could muster for that heinous endeavor. He forced his mouth upon hers once more, this time more forcefully though without using any wanton speed. The motion made his hair fall down and isolate them in dark cascades, as his tongue seemed to push itself down her throat. Sickness overtook her, even though in reality his tongue was nowhere near deep enough to trigger that reflex.

Though it was against everything she was taught, she could not possibly cease her anguished pleas. She pleaded in her mind to wake form this nightmare. Alas if there were any beings capable of bringing this divine intervention – they remained unhearing.  

She felt him move, whilst pulling away from the terrifying kiss. Even though his body did not touch hers, his motions were obvious due to the temperature of his body brushing hers like wind. When her eyes opened she saw that he had placed his hair behind his shoulder, so that it would not act so waywardly again. His hand snaked behind her head but it felt as if he had squeezed her heart in his palm instead. Tilting it, he bared her throat. Fear trickled down her spine in cold perspiration – it appeared as though he was preparing to tear her throat out. However instead of jagged teeth she felt a cold and wet tongue scaling her neck, moving from the hollow of her throat towards her chin.

Slowly his hand retreated, allowing her head to rest on the pillow in a more natural position. His mouth however strayed back to her neck, kissing and licking as he saw fit. Icy palms found her torso and splayed themselves to frame her ribcage, their span nearly enough to clasp her. _His tiny, Vanir doll_ – an alien voice mocked her. _Please_ , she thought to herself and half-hoped to die.

The King’s lips moved lower still. Travelling down between her small breasts, until his mouth took a swerve. He pressed soft and slow kisses on the underside of her breast, as he did so he raised his crimson orbs to find hers. He pulled away and his eyes met hers and then moved downwards. The embarrassment and terror were too much, she forgot how to breathe and had to repress tears, which were ever-threatening to run down her cheeks.

One of his hands, with its spidery digits, slithered beneath her back. He used it to manipulate her into and arc, forcing her torso to rise. Then his mouth descended onto the gooseflesh-ridden skin of her breast. It elicited a barely audible cry (more of a gasp intermixed with a squeak); the action and the shock were indescribable. It did not end there however, his cold mouth sucked on her breast slowly and torturously. At times with the variation of grazing with his teeth at the taunt areola.

She did not know how long that lasted; panic and fear – were ill suited aids for time comprehension. When it seemed that he had enough of the pointless, vile play, releasing her with a disgusting wet sound – he went on to do the same to the other. Teeth, tongue and lips resumed with the task, having already left the previous taunt, tender and bruised.        

When he finally released her, she kept her gaze to the ceiling. Perhaps she did so because she wished to keep her vision trained on somewhere beyond, looking heavenward, through distances of cosmos too vast to image, in some vain hopes that it along with her incomprehensible prayers – strings of broken _please, please, please, please_ would reach the Norns who were weaving the tapestries of fate. Or perhaps she did so because her countenance was shattering too much to retain even an illusion of equanimity. Whichever it was did not matter, as long as it saved her from incurring her husband’s wrath.

The tremors that shook her naked and defenseless body had nearly ceased, however the tenseness was loath to abate. The Ice Jotunn appeared to have taken note of her rigidity. His touch startled the Vanir girl. He caressed her shoulders lightly, as though in an attempt to quell her. If that was his purpose – it fell flat, as her muscles became even further coiled, threatening to crush bones. He halted his feather-like touches and kissed her softly; not like he had before – this time it was a brief press of his lips to hers. The motion dissuaded her from that assumption – if he had noticed her state, he had not scrutinized it and therefore had no reason to take offence.

His hand grasped her thigh, its width nearly fully clasped. And the man had no need to be the size of a giant to make her miniscule. It had been difficult to comprehend the deficiency in strength her stature gave her – when one was almost invisible and mostly irrelevant. Neither had a battlefield made her so aware of thus; she’d never been a primary target there and stature had no relevancy where danger was universal. But this was less than a fleeting thought as his wandering hands and lips were within the spotlight of her mind. Not once did the male looming over her make a motion that spoke of haste, it was as though the concept of time was inexistent to him.

The female did not know when or how her legs had been moved. Whether he did that himself or she simply complied – was lost as far as her memory recalled. It seemed that the rules time had broken no longer applied to cognizance as well. She did not have a spare moment to be shocked by this – as something much more disturbing occurred. Ice touched her between her spread legs, and it might have been a finger – but it did not feel like living flesh. Sliding between the slit and pressing insistently. She did not know why and all that there was – was fear. It did not end there (though how long that lasted no one could tell), as his fingers slid lower and lower. Intent on penetrating her core with the same insistence and languidness.

That was all the young woman’s psyche could take – time and memory existed no more. His kiss broke the spell, as though in a long-forgotten fairytale (but if this was a fairytale – then it was more twisted and sick than any sane imagination could conjure). She became aware that his hand had moved away. It was a blessing, but she despaired – it did not last long enough. Neither mind nor body could recall that unspeakable act, merciful emptiness had replaced those minutes. No, not quite replaced – as her mind had fled and returned only now, therefore what happened had never been experienced even though it had happened. The Vanir hadn’t fainted, she knew she had not truly blacked out – it was an open-eyed loss of consciousness. 

Each of his kisses seemed to punctuate the crippling anguish inside her. Sigyn choked, and her mouth opened soundlessly, she did not know whether it was from his heavy form blanketing hers or him pushing his way _inside_ of her. Wanting to beg for the blackness to steal this as well – but having no true ability to string thought through fear and agony. Her body was being torn in two, ever so slowly. It felt as though she was being speared with an _icicle_. She didn’t have an ounce of strength in her to school her features, and Norns, Norns... At least his face was hidden somewhere in the pillows beside her so the King could not see. Filling her ear with heavy, strained breathing that she did not register. But what the girl did not hear, he didn’t either. Pitiful whimpers that held no more sound than her lungs seem to hold air. And if it wasn’t his weight that was the thief, then it was her unbeating heart that had wedged itself in her throat.

And he kept pushing forward _still_. She could not see through the veil of tears gathering in her eyes and the world she saw seemed to have filled with thickened smoke that was his magic. And the inward movement did not seem to know an end, as he pushed his _freezing_ flesh through tense and resisting muscle, seemingly intent on undoing every seam inside her body. Making the tiny Vanir aware of an orifice that hadn’t existed before and forcing himself in it, much as the thought was forcing itself inside her head that her physique had not been created to accommodate anything like this.

Time went and went, alas it did not move at all. Her core tearing and him just cleaving it in half. Something snapped and her body twisted beneath him, yet there was no escape and she couldn’t curl away from him. And the Jotunn did not appear to have noticed as he _continued_ , as though he’d break any barrier and it wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ be enough; as though he’d keep on shredding until he could crawl into her flesh. And each moment past the woman thought she could not take much more a-a-and something would burst – but each time she was wrong and that piece of _ice_ just kept on moving deeper.

An eternity passed, lost forever, when it finally stopped. Her husband was still, but it did not feel like he was. The motion just kept on repeating in pain, over and over, nerves alit with quick-fire repeats – as her physical form could not forget. Her core was full, _too full_ , of him, of agony, of ice.      

Minutes disguised as hours went by. Long enough for the phantom motion to fade, not long enough to will the hurt into nothingness. The Vanir could not feel her heart beating nor hear her own breath – for all that she knew, the moment had stopped at a standstill. However now that her eyes were not filled with tears, threatening to spill, she could see more clearly. The movement of the manifested magic – of the smoke – was the only testament that time had not ceased to exist.

He shifted. Blood colored eyes met those of spring green leaves. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. Her countenance was placid, more so from shock than effort. His lips and tongue plundered her mouth. She felt the Frost Giant Ruler begin pulling away from her core, so slowly that she felt every millimeter of the icy agony of purest torture. It seemed to be splitting her body once more, it was as though he was dragging himself along a fresh, bleeding wound – both inside and outside of her physical self. The pain would have made her form twist beneath him, whimpers pour from her throat into his greedy maw – but she was petrified. The newly crowned Queen was still and silent as the King’s body laid hers to waste.

And when the backward motion finally stopped, it had been long enough to have disrupted his kiss many a time, for sharp intakes of breath. Yet even that was not lacking in grace, nothing seemed to be enough to make the Monarch function with any less than perfection.

Just as slowly, incomprehensibly slowly, he pushed his length back into her rigid flesh. The tautness only accentuating the frostbitten torment. Though her physique was paralytic, it retained all feeling and that was sharpened tenfold. The young woman realized that the architectural patterns that adorned the man’s skin were not exempt from _any_ part of his anatomy, and the ridges on his hardened flesh chafed her raw insides like broken glass. The pain-fueling sensation left her mouth agape, though her throat only bore silence.

* * *

 

As time passed transcending the name of eternity, his pace had not hastened by much. Each movement remaining languid, outdrawn and seemingly effortless. The monotony never knew a moment of sweet relief from pain, only aguish and fear. It was only ever disrupted by pointlessly, whimsically wandering male hand or mouth – and overall remained unchanging.

The girl remembered snippets of innocently overheard conversations, complaints from noblewomen of their forlorn love-lives. She’d heard woeful words about husbands that lasted bare minutes – and she’d never thought that intercourse lasted very long. Alas, as much as she may have wished it – this seemed not something to encompass Jotunheim’s King, an abnormality many would have celebrated spoke only of dread to her. Even though right now to her time was a fragile concept, her ability to register it was not truly damaged. It was not mere minutes that have passed, the borderline into hour has long since been broken. It felt like millennia but it had been hours, though to determine exactly was beyond her capacity.

The hand that grasped her thigh, from when he had hoisted her leg on his hip (changing the angle to all new shades of suffering), left its vigil post to aid in holding his weight above. The Ice Jotunn’s movement inside the Vanir remained unchanging and unrelentingly slow, but some kind of difference was beginning to bleed through. His hand began clenching the pillow, the crunching feathers within sounding like footsteps on snow. His breath brushed her cheek in powerful, broken gusts of winter.

A creaking sound was wrenched out of her throat as his pace broke, pushing in deeply and hitting the woman’s cervix. She heard the pillowcase tear. He made several deep uncoordinated, shuddering thrusts and her core was overflown with liquid freezing cold. The fullness slowly receded but the shocking cold spilled within her remained.

The Frost Giant Leader remained unmoving for a long while, and she listened to his breathing evening out. His body slipped easily from the cradle of hers as he moved away with deep-rooted heaviness, to lie down beside her over-stressed form. It left her core feeling hollow and throbbing, yet obviously filled with his climax.

When he moved to take her into his arms, only then did the female’s body respond. The female latched onto the male, settling herself firmly against him, her head pillowed on his chest. And she would not have moved so, would not have craved the contact so – only she did, and he was the only one who could give that. He had caused her that unspeakable hurt, he should have been the last one for her to turn to without effort or thought. Sigyn _needed_ the comfort, _needed_ to be held as though someone’s arms could protect her. She had rarely ever had anyone to console her, someone to coddle her – and now that was all that her being wanted, more ardently than ever before. He was the aggressor, yet she took comfort from him with avarice unspoken. And he held her, and it was an illusion of safety, but she wanted it so _badly_ it hurt. The lie was potent enough to make her forget every important fact. 

Coverlets and furs appeared, blanketing her further; even the man whose arms were loosely wrapped around her seemed warmer than before. The lights went out on the Master Magician’s whim, but she wasn’t aware enough to notice. The newly found warmth began easing her shivers, alas the cold inside her remained, seeping out and staining her thighs. The throbbing echoes of pain began receding, numbed by the freezing seed spilled inside her core.

If any stray tears touched the Ruler’s skin, he gave no sign. The Queen did not have the strength to think, much less to fight the upcoming oblivion of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains dub-con, as in dubious consent in the context of sexual relations.
> 
> I wanted to get this posted as quickly as I can, therefore I have foregone any lengthy explanations concerning the material or the exact warning that applies. I hope that my readers are mature enough and understand the material that they are reading, so that any lengthy explanations are not necessary.  
> That being said, if any questions do arise – I welcome them fully. However, complaints and angry tantrums only show the incompetence of a reader, the warnings have been given in sufficient quantity, ignoring them is by no means the fault of the writer.


End file.
